Star Wars AU: The Fallen Light
by Lord Infinity
Summary: A Star Wars/Redwall crossover featuring Original Characters with mentions of Legends characters, and set before the KotOR games. The dust finally settles after the tragedy of the Mandalorian Wars. One vengeance-driven Jedi abandons the Order and joins the Sith, and two Knights and a Master search across the Galaxy to save him. Problem is, this Dark Jedi doesn't even want saving...
1. Opening Crawl

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

STAR WARS

THE FALLEN LIGHT

JEDI Knight Divan Tonaka is on the hunt across the Galaxy, searching for a friend who fell to the Dark Side of the Force in the aftermath of the Mandalorian Wars. His past sins in the Wars drive his grief and desperation to find his lost brother, and return him to the Light. His mission is specifically sanctioned by the Jedi Council, and aided by two other Jedi - fellow Knight Larina Skyleaf and Master Cristo Larring -, he begins his search on Corellia for the fallen warrior…

TINARANDEL abandoned the Jedi Order after the cold-blooded murders of his siblings at the hands of the Mandalorians. Desiring revenge on both the Jedi for the failure to prevent their deaths, and on the soldiers of Mandalore responsible, this new Dark Jedi joins the Sith and learns its dark ways under the Ithorian Lord Trook Nothris. His fascination with the nature of the Dark Side motivates him to seek out greater knowledge, greater than anything he could ever imagine. With revenge at the forefront of his mind, Tinarandel will stop at nothing until he has achieved his goals…


	2. Interrogation Issues

**Nar Shaddaa, Burning Deck Cantina, 3959 BBY**

Tinarandel stared in boredom into the frozen margarita wineglass before him. His Squirrelan head rested sluggishly on his furry elbows laid flat on the bar counter. Around him, the Burning Deck Cantina blared loudly with the mass of raucous melodic jazz music. The resonances of steel drums, horns, woodwinds, and electronic keyboards flooded his eardrums. But he paid no heed to them. A few meters away, some bar patrons slumped over the counter, uncomfortably close to him and irreversibly drunk. These too Tinarandel mindfully ignored. His mind had wandered far off.

Roughly an hour and forty-five minutes ago, Tinarandel and his Master arrived on Nar Shaddaa. The apprentice didn't fully know their business there. His Master had neglected to tell him even the smallest details. The latter had left him at the bar five minutes ago before disappearing into the crowd.

Having nothing better to do, Tinarandel called for the bartender. Now here he sat, indulging in Nar Shaddaa's strong drink. The remainder of the large crowd seemed to ignore the fact that a Dark Jedi sat in their midst. But Tinarandel favored the physical detachment. The less notice, the better himself and his Master could properly go about their business.

His gaze shifted to his right, only to suddenly be obscured by the shoulders of a drunk leaf-green Rodian. He snored away on his stool, a tipped cup of brandy in his five-fingered suction hands. Tinarandel huffed impatiently, and unpretentiously using the Force, pushed the drunken alien in disgust off his seat onto the floor. The unconscious Rodian slumped onto his side and the half-empty brandy glass fell clumsily from his hands. Two WA-7 Waitress Droids wheeled over to tidy up the mess and then remove the senseless creature from the Cantina.

Tinarandel turned back to his own drink when a door opened on the far side of the building to his left. Out of what resembled the end of a short hallway stepped a familiar face, drawing a small expectant smile.

Trook Nothris, a dark brown Ithorian, spread his long pitch-black robes and armor across his slender body. Coming abreast of his apprentice, he signaled the bartender to order a whiskey on the rocks.

The Squirrelan broke the silence between them. "Fruitful search, Master?" he sincerely inquired.

Nothris glanced discreetly around the Cantina, thanking the Dark Side that the near-deafening music would drown out their essential conversation. For a couple of minutes, he said nothing.

Tinarandel scoffed a bit in amusement into his wineglass, and thoughtfully drank the margarita while musing over the silent situation. He stopped halfway down the glass before responding in a joking tone, "All right, I'll bite. What's going on?"

The Ithorian's voice warbled indistinctly for a short moment before projecting clearly through the translator planted around his neck. The enunciated Galactic Basic dripped half with impatience and half mild hopefulness. He also quickly caught the humor and patted his apprentice appreciatively on the back, before leaning tiredly over the bar counter, shaking his hammer-shaped head.

 _"So, I'll spare you the preamble. My contact is a curio collector, of relics from both the Jedi and the Sith, although he shows no connection to the Force whatsoever. At least none that I can discernibly detect. I'd be lying if I didn't think of that as, in some ways, pathetic. Nevertheless, he possesses invaluable information of one particular treasure that he himself has not yet tracked down. I wish to uncover it for our purposes. Yet, he is withholding his much-needed cooperation from me. Either he is mentally and emotionally resilient, or my connection to the Force is slipping. I cannot consider myself weak and must try harder. Weakness is not our way. Therefore, I require your assistance, Tinarandel. Or rather, your…aptitude for less subtle means of persuasion. I need you to – how do you young people say it these days? 'Put the idea through his skull'. Show him that we won't leave Nar Shaddaa until we are given what technically belongs to us."_

"To us alone or to the Empire?" Tinarandel asked in genuine curiosity as he drained the last of his margarita down his throat.

Nothris didn't hesitate to wink and smirk towards him, adding to his quizzical expression. _"Well, mustn't spoil the surprise, now must we? Come."_

They finished their drinks and handsomely paid the bartender in credit chips before leaving the counter. Together, Master and Apprentice cloaked themselves in the curtains of the Force while navigating the packed dance crowd and small gaggle of bounty hunters. Nothris led his apprentice back into the short dimly-lit hallway and bade him through a solid white door at its end. Tinarandel passed inside into a small bedroom, less lit than its preceding passageway.

A tan lightly-tattooed male Zabrak sat in a backless chair on the left side wall perpendicular to the bed, leaning low over a table lit by a solitary glow lantern. He appeared so engrossed in poring over faded ink-stained papyrus documents, and glowing holopads running rapid mathematical and geographic calculations, that he failed to notice his guests' entrances.

Nothris wasted no time in approaching the Zabrak, standing imposingly over him. _"Quanoe!"_ The Ithorian barked. _"I've returned."_

The one named Quanoe removed his glass spectacles and looked over his shoulder at the unimpressive Ithorian standing over him. The same one who'd feebly interrogated him moments earlier; devoid of any legitimate explanation, he'd failed to make a lasting impression. Quanoe looked over Nothris' shoulder and nearly burst out laughing at his unimpressive company.

"So…you're back." the Zabrak spoke in a grating condescending low voice. "What a surprise." He began to lace his voice with undeniable amused sarcasm. "Back for another round of insults, and me keeping my secrets under lock an' key? Eh, are you, Trook? You'll get no cooperation from me, I tell you. None whatsoever, hear?"

While he criticized Nothris, his eyes were set firmly on Tinarandel. The Squirrelan stood resolute, his arms crossed over his chest and leaning slightly to one side, dead silent. Nothris had always taught him that when in the company of others, he must speak strictly when spoken to.

"Who's the furry head, eh?" Quanoe snickered, shaking his horned head. "Hired muscle?"

Nothris nodded at him permissively to answer. Tinarandel did not hold back.

"Tinarandel, apprentice of Trook Nothris." He took great care to match Quanoe's cynical tone, if not somewhat deadpan.

"Ah…" Quanoe mused aloud, shifting his weight in his seat and turning around to face him. "You're a Squirrelan."

"Well," Tinarandel shrugged nonchalantly. "Corellian, actually, though yes, I do have the appearance of a…erm, squirrel. It's hard to explain."

"I'm sure we'll get along… _nicely_ , Tinarandel." Quanoe chuckled cynically. He turned back to Nothris, smirking. "Fine, Trook. What's your deal? You still want that information from me, yeah? I expect to be well compensated. This stuff I am keeping to myself for a reason. It is, after all, a path to…untold treasure." Another chuckle before reaching over to his desk and shuffling his papyrus scrolls together. "I'm waiting for your answer."

 _"That treasure is not yours to obtain,"_ Nothris cautioned him, while motioning to Tinarandel to seat himself comfortably on the bed. _"Did I not make that clear earlier? There are secrets hidden inside that thing that no normal being can possess, unless they be gifted with the Force. A gift you certainly do not possess!"_

Quanoe laughed out loud, nearly falling backwards off his chair. "Oh, yeah? Getting inside the place is the harder part. Full of untold dangers you so-called all-powerful Sith can't even imagine." He straightened himself and took a couple breaths before continuing.

"Then at the end of it is the guy himself. He'd slaughter you before you even moved to turn on your lightsaber. He'd cut you where you stand, snuff out your life in half a heartbeat."

Quanoe continued to chuckle to himself while beginning to organize his holopads, a sound which deeply irritated both the Master and Apprentice. "Notwithstanding, I plan to find that place and infiltrate it." He explained in determination, shutting off his holopads and putting them aside. "Force or no Force, I will unlock those secrets for myself – you can bet your lives on it – and then use them to gain wealth. _Wealth_ , Trook. Beyond all imagining." A dark wistfulness came over him, a selfishness and egotism, as if he suddenly saw his future.

Tinarandel spoke up before Nothris interjected a word. "Whatever those things are, wherever they hide or are hidden, you don't deserve them. The Force chooses whom it will. It sure hasn't chosen you. You are nothing compared to the power of the Dark Side. You'd fall before you took your first step inside."

"Oh?" Quanoe pulled himself back to reality moved to stand over the Squirrelan sitting on his bed. "And exactly what would you know about it, you – ?"

"Sit down!" Tinarandel commanded, and extended his paws to telekinetically push Quanoe back into his seat. He fell awkwardly back into place, flailing his arms but managing to find his balance, laughing again as he righted himself.

"Quite an attitude you've got there, Tinarandel. I admire you – to an extent."

 _"Now you're veering off topic, Quanoe."_ Nothris noted angrily. _"Give us what we want! Tell us where it is, now!"_

"No!" Quanoe grabbed his research and held them closely to his chest.

Nothris seized him by the shoulders and pinned him on the desk. _"Tell us where it is! This is your final warning!"_

" _No!"_ Quanoe locked his arms tighter together frightfully, cutting off any access to his torso.

Fuming, Nothris nodded to Tinarandel, who stood up, pulled aside the folds of his robe, and summoned to his left paw an anodized powder-coated standard lightsaber, decorated in alternating gray and black rings and a dark green polished finish.

 _Shrroom!_ The trademark crimson blade shot out of the handle, blazing and burning with the anger and fury building in its user's heart, fueled by the customary synthetic crystal inside it. Tinarandel pointed the blade in front of him, slowly lowering it down to Quanoe's throat.

"Now, share what you know." Tinarandel ordered furiously, his patience spent. "Or I'll cauterize your esophagus!"

Quanoe squirmed under Nothris' vice grip and shut his eyes in terror as the lightsaber blade descended towards his neck. It was an inch away from burning his vocal cords…

" _ **Korriban!"**_

 _Shrrop!_ The saber beam instantly retracted, and Quanoe heard the faint clipping of the weapon being returned to its utility belt. He opened his eyes and stared horrified into Nothris' own.

"It's on Korriban, I swear! I know it is, the scrolls have confirmed it! The history books, too! You wouldn't believe the lengths I've gone to, just to find legitimate evidence!" He took a gander at Tinarandel, who had once again leaned on his bed. "I've sacrificed sleep, days of it, sifting and skimming through whatever ancient tomes I could find; looking for it, never stopping! I tell you, I haven't sleep in nearly a week!"

Quanoe struggled against Nothris and shook himself painfully free. Massaging his shoulders, he stood up straight as Nothris stepped back. Now the Ithorian's hammer-shaped head was decorated with a smirk.

 _"There. That wasn't so hard."_ Nothris snarked encouragingly. _"Had you done that five minutes ago, you'd not be in this mess. As promised, you'll be compensated for your time and service."_ Nothris dug into the folds of his robe and withdrew a handful of more Republic credit chips. _"How much?"_

Quanoe fixed his belted tunic and opened his palm to receive the money. "500 decicreds! I'll take no less! 500 decis or I walk outta here!"

 _"Done,"_ Nothris handed over the share, and Tinarandel pitched in the remaining tenth.

Nothris smiled and packed away his credits. His eyes glowed and his face contorted with a sinister gratitude. _"Once again, Quanoe, thank you for your cooperation. We won't be seeing you again anytime soon, after we're off to Korriban. Do yourself a favor and never attempt to seek us out again. Never embark on another quest for artifacts or curios of any kind from this moment henceforth. All those priceless riches belong to the Sith. Never forget that."_

He beckoned Tinarandel to his side. But as the Squirrelan stood up and adjusted the folds of his robe, Quanoe raised a hand to stop him.

"Wait! I'd have a few words to speak to you."

Nothris said nothing for a few seconds, then silently left the room to wait outside in the hallway.

After laying his belongings back on the table, Quanoe came up to Tinarandel, suddenly bitter and sadistic. His opponent barely flinched.

"I've heard of you…" Quanoe whispered breathily. "Your departure from the Jedi after the Mandalorian Wars…the tragedy of your siblings…your acrimonious public shaming of the Order…and your declaration of vengeance upon the warriors of Dantooine." Quanoe lowered his horned head and pretended to headbutt Tinarandel in the chest. Again, the latter held his ground.

"The HoloNet just exploded when it caught the news, you know. Aware of that? The media has been buzzing like Equinox Day on Hosnian Prime. Oh, how the mighty Jedi have fallen. Such a tragedy in so many contexts, wouldn't you agree - _hurk!_ "

All of a sudden, he was lifted into the air by the Squirrelan's paws, and his feet shook wildly a meter off the ground. Tinarandel raised his enemy a tad higher before tossing him clear across the room. Quanoe collided with the wall on his spine and collapsed on the floor on his face. Tinarandel used his feet to roll him over and placed a heavy boot on the Zabrak's chest, then leaned in close to hiss in his ears.

"Do not speak to me of tragedy, Iridonian. You've no idea what the Mandalorian Wars did to me! I made my choice to leave the Jedi Order. I may be no Sith like Trook Nothris, but my path is being carved! I am cementing my foundation of darkness; and upon it, I shall build the monument of the vengeance upon the Jedi and the Mandalorians!"

He pressed his boot down slightly harder, causing Quanoe to wince and cry out in pain. Tinarandel met him eyes to eyes, his own starting to departing from his natural cocoa brown to a bright yellow.

"You can either help me…or stay out of my way. Your luck has already turned against you once today. Don't press it any further."

He removed his feet and allowed Quanoe to sit up straight, but didn't bother to wait to see if he'd properly stood up before leaving the room completely.

Nothris stood beside the door to his left, nodding approvingly at his apprentice. _"Impressive."_ he acclaimed him. _"Most impressive."_

Tinarandel shrugged a second time dismissively. "Just basic instinct, Master. Nothing more."

Nothris ruffled the Squirrelan's hair and led him out of the hallway.

"I have to say, Master." Tinarandel confessed as they went up to the bar. "I hoped I'd get the chance to fry him like that."

 _"I can understand that fully, my apprentice. However, had you done so, he'd be dead and we'd be unable to acquire the knowledge we needed. Even the Sith Empire can't know everything all at once. Quanoe obtained his by mere happenstance and diligent study, traveling across the galaxy across who knows how many planets. We are fortunate to have received it from him."_

Tinarandel scratched his head skeptically. "What's going on? What's it all about, anyway?"

Nothris placed an assuring hand on his shoulder. _"Patience, my boy. In time, I will reveal all. That's a promise._ He called the bartender over. _"Now the time has come for us to head home. A drink for the road?"_

"Why not?" Tinarandel laughed for the first time that day. "I could use the stress reliever."


	3. The Three Jedi

**Onboard Spacecruiser** _ **Ixion**_ **, along Corellian Run**

" _14 hours to Corellia."_

On the bridge of the legendary Corellian spacecruiser _Ixion_ ,Jedi Knight Divan Tonaka stared dumbfounded at the timeframe of the navicomputer. He scratched his head in confusion as it completed its residual calculations and corrected itself at a whopping _"14.53 hours to Corellia."_

Divan caught himself going on a mental tangent in a futile attempt to outsmart the navicomputer. Perhaps this stemmed from his dislike of hyperspace traveling in general. Or, on the other hand, it came from his opinion that the _Ixion_ 's scheduled stops at and between Ryloth and Christophsis to board or drop passengers would only slow down the already-time consuming trip. Indeed, even in his head, the venture sounded ridiculous; even as a dedicated Jedi Knight, by Squirrelan nature Divan wasn't exactly the most patient of creatures. Then again, being the fastest of its kind on this side of the Galaxy meant an undeniable truth: there is virtually no contending against the _Ixion_.

So, he figured he should make the subsequent time productive.

Divan smoothed out his Jedi robe and bade goodbye to the ship's crew members and pilots, silently leaving the bridge and exiting out into the hallway. At that point, he swung left and started to head towards the elevator at the far end of the passageway.

He stood aside as it opened and a small group of crew members of various alien races poured out, before subconsciously tapping into Force Speed and sprinting inside a split second before the doors shut. He then selected the passenger cabins level from the selection buttons.

Much to his misfortune, the moment the elevator descended…was the exact same moment the _Ixion_ decided to jump into hyperspace.

Once standing tall and dignified in the middle of the steel box, Divan abruptly stumbled and collapsed into a furry robed heap on the ground as the currents of hyperspace engulfed the ship. His head practically missed the lower right corner by an inch. Grumbling under his breath, he messily got to his feet after the vessel had righted itself. He'd finished once again readjusting his robe and typical Jedi tunic as the doors reopened.

The Order wondered why he hated this kind of traveling so much.

He strode off at a brisk pace down the adjoining corridor, desperate to find his cabin and unwind from the unwarned hyperspace leap. Such a need constrained him to release his Speed in order to avoid collision with those rushing to catch the box. A great sigh of relief escaped him as he found the place and scanned his palm on the required electronic lock.

The sliding door opened into a plush trapezoidal lounge. Medium-sized cushioned club armchairs and cozy sofas dotted the area, their differing bright colors starkly enhanced by the shining marble-white floor. Chic counters spanned the lengths of every divider, standing beneath angled bookshelves hanging on the crimson red sandstone walls. Luminescent chandeliers swung carefree from the orange ceiling. To complete the space, a short archway sealed off by a second electronic door and palm scanner led to the cozy bedrooms, featuring its seductively comfortable velvet queen beds, complemented by plenty of feather pillows and thick fuzzy comforters.

Though he loathed the coming trip, Divan had to support the universal acclaim the _Ixion_ garnered all across the Corellian Run. For a ship critically famous for its unparalleled speed, it wasn't certifiably a stranger to humble luxury, either. It lured him inside its colorful form. He knew that simply remaining here may pass the time faster.

As Divan entered and stepped over the threshold, a female Squirrelan sitting in a chair on the left side looked up from a holopad and smiled cheerfully at him. She giggled as he plopped himself down in another club chair parallel to her. Divan slumped his arms over the back and reclined his head on one shoulder.

Larina Skyleaf, a fellow Jedi Knight, shut off her holopad and laid it aside on a small round end table. "All things considered, Div?" She asked jokingly. "Ready for the long flight?"

"Do you want the honest answer, Rina?" Divan griped in his effortless tired high baritone voice.

Larina giggled again in her breathy silver-bell tone and crossed her left leg over her right. "Don't worry, we'll be fine. We can trust the _Ixion_. Mayhap we should just sleep half the flight off, and before we know it, we'll hit Corellia airspace in no time. A touch of meditation every now and then wouldn't hurt, either. We are Jedi, and mustn't let impatience get the better of us."

"Speaking of meditation," Divan wondered aloud, obviously half-listening and checking the cabin. "Where's Master Larring?"

"Where do you think?" Larina jerked a thumb at the bedroom. "He's been in there for the past half hour."

Divan hummed in covert annoyance, furtively wishing for his moment of meditate in the elevator before the jump, leaving him a tad disoriented.

"Should I go tell him you've returned?" Larina offered, moving to stand.

Divan raised a paw to calm her. "No, don't worry. I'll do it. You stay there."

He pushed himself to his feet and removed his cloak to drape over the chair. Then he strolled over and softly rapped his knuckles on the door.

"Come in," came the thin, gentle, and aged voice from the other side.

Divan obliged by calibrating his fingers in the lock and entering the bunk bed space. There, sitting in a lotus position between the pair of four bunk beds was an albino gold-snout Badger. Be that as it may, he was no ordinary badger: rather, no greater creature than the revered Dantooine-born Jedi Master himself, Cristo Larring.

"Divan," Larring asked, his back to the Squirrelan. "Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me." Divan confirmed, shutting the door and kneeling on the floor behind the Badger. "I'm sorry I took so long. The navicomputer made me rather nervous."

"You need not apologize," Larring chuckled and assured him in his angelic voice. He opened his beady pink eyes, expelling himself from the Force and uncrossing his legs. Turning over his shoulder, he grinned heartily at Divan, who returned the gesture.

"This is to be a lengthy trip, and I sense you are not prepared for it." Larring observed. He reached a paw behind to affectionately caress Divan's hair. "But place your trust continually in the Force. That is my counsel to you. There is nothing we cannot endure so long as it is on our side, and vice versa. Don't you agree?"

Divan nodded, and they both stood up and left the bedroom. Larina was presently likewise standing, inertly watching the currents of hyperspace fly at faster-than-light speeds past the oval windows on the walls. Larring came up behind and brushed her hair as he'd done to Divan.

"My Apprentices, we've a significant journey before us. We must remind ourselves that the traveling is itself the reward. Even our arrival at Corellia is not the end. Remember the reason why we travel; the motivations behind why we have embarked. Remember that the Jedi Council sanctioned this outing, and what they need us to do. No matter to what extent the mission takes…we will succeed."

A seriousness suddenly painted the albino Badger's face, his pink eyes glowing fiercely with determination.

"No matter what, we will – _must_ – find Tinarandel, at whatever cost. The Force demands his rescue."

Divan leaned to one side against his chair, arms folded over his broad chest in slight defiance. "What if we're wrong? What if when we find him, he's no longer himself? Have either of you viewed the HoloNet lately, broadcasting the news that he's joined the Sith Empire? How much of that is true?"

"Since when has the media ever been true?" Larring asked matter-of-factly. He moved to one of the sofas and took the center cushion, leaning forwards and interfacing his fingers together on his lap. "Whatever they say about him – or us, so far as that is concerned – ought to be of no hindrance to our quest."

"Whatever state we find him in, whatever side he's joined," Larina pondered, reseating herself. "Odds are, by any stretch of the imagination – he doesn't recognize us."

"Notwithstanding whether he recognizes us or not," Larring promised comfortingly, putting his large Badger paw on her dainty Squirrelan one. "If he so chooses to return to our fold, we should welcome him wholeheartedly."

"That is a planet-sized ' _if_ ', Master." Larina whispered in anxious awe. Larring only gestured his concurrence.

"That won't stop us," Divan declared, bravely raising his fists. "We've got to do whatever it takes to bring him back!"

Neither Jedi commented on his valiant certainty cloaked as bold bravado. When Divan noticed, he simply pivoted away to face the windows. A couple minutes of pure silence passed until Larina whispered to break the tense atmosphere.

"Divan…" She said in sorrowful regret. "He's never coming back."

Larring looked between each Jedi Knight, cautiously pondering his words. At length, he spoke his mind.

"Please do not give into negativity, young ones. Valor and hope are the ways of the Jedi. Putting our trust in the Force is everything we can do for now."

He beckoned them to sit beside him, and after they had done so, he placed his loving paws on their shoulders.

"I recall the day I received the news that your Masters had fallen victims to the Mandalorians during the Battle of Dxun. While I can never understand how much you grieved their deaths, your feelings were natural. The entire Order shared your pain as they mourned unspeakable losses from the Mandalorian Wars. After we returned home, you both approached me about your lack of a proper Master to train you. I saw how lost, hopeless, and miserable you were. So, I offered to take you both under my wings. The Council, as you can imagine, was at first opposed to my proposal. The Code forbids a Master taking more than one apprentice, you know that. Yet…"

He lovingly squeezed their shoulders and chuckled. "After much pressing and begging, they at last relented and granted me my greatest wish. Can't you see, Divan and Larina, that I think of you two almost as like my very own children?"

The two comforted Knights murmured in agreement and Larring wrapped his arms fully around their shoulders in a secure embrace.

"The Code may preclude such attachments. Truth be told, I care not. You two merit a Master, and so I am such to you. I always will be."

He sighed sympathetically as they shut their eyes and buried their heads in his shoulders.

"There, my children." He whispered softly in their Squirrelan ears. "Do not mourn the losses. Do not mourn the standard years wasted, nor the lives stolen away. Do anticipate to the hope that lies ahead, to the brilliant future awaiting us. Look to our landing on Corellia. Look ahead, my dear Jedi Knights, at the glorious return of Tinarandel to the Jedi Order."

As Larring cradled them in his arms, he gazed out hopefully at the hyperspace dimension cruising away.

How he wished, deep in his heart, he believed his own words.

* * *

Larina woke first sometime later. She stretched out of her fetal position on Larring's lap and gradually got to her feet, not holding back a giggle at the sight of the Badger still leaned back on the sofa and Divan nestled neatly into his shoulder.

Larina snatched up her Jedi robe and went to the bedroom. When the door shut behind her, she laid the robe aside, knelt down, and pulled open one of the built-in drawers underneath the bunks. From it, she withdrew a copper-brown messenger bag from the middle drawer and propped it on the bed.

But she hesitated moving to open the flap, first raising her paw, then pulling it back. In her head, she slapped herself to get a grip, and instantly flipped the flap open. She dug inside and wrapped her fingers around something, which she pulled out and examined. Her heart wrenched when she saw what it was: a floating amethyst necklace on a silver chain, in the shape of a small heart.

She remembered precisely how she got it.

Tinarandel gave it to her, on a fateful Dantooine night. Two young adult Squirrelans snuck out of the Jedi Temple to flee into the backwoods, where they stole a moment alone to themselves.

Neither of them denied it at the time: they were both deeply in love.

They'd known each other since their times as Jedi Younglings, growing up in the same Clan, living and training, learning and socializing, getting to know each other and spend as much free time together as possible – and eventually, falling in love.

However, the Jedi Code strongly restricted all forms of attachment, especially romantic. In any case, they surrendered to their Squirrelan natures and scaled a giant adult oak tree, expertly concealing themselves from unfriendly eyes within its heavy branches.

Then, as the moonlight bathed them in a pearly-white aura, and the shining stars illuminated their eyes, hers hazel and his cocoa-brown, respectively…At long last, they confessed their feelings for each other.

They knew the risks, the dangers of such a connection. They understood the consequences should the Jedi Council discover their secret love. Externally, such exposure meant total expulsion from the Order; and internally, a conceivable threat of falling to the Dark Side. They both promised to each other to forever preserve their secret. Under circumstances of intense interrogation or painful torture, they would otherwise never betray each other or reveal their undying love.

Tinarandel gifted her the amethyst necklace that night in the oak tree. It once belonged to his sister Isidith, who'd crafted it purely from raw materials and an actual Kyber crystal during a lazy day. She knew of Larina's fondness for precious gems as well as her older brother's hidden feelings for her. At first, Larina refused to take it, saying that the symbol would be too easy for the other Jedi to interpret. It held the potential to betray them. Tinarandel insisted, placing it in her palm and closing her fingers over it. They both formed the idea to shroud it under her clothes. So, after sincere heartfelt thanks towards her new darling, that's exactly what she did; and in addition, found herself hardly surprised when he requested nothing in return.

Since they were younglings, they'd known the Mandalorian Wars. They'd been 5 years old when it started, growing up through their years as Jedi Padawans and eventually as Knights; knowing of every major battle, of every minor skirmish, of every single victory and loss for either the Jedi and the Mandalorians. Much as they wished to join the war and help their fellow Jedi as well as the Republic armies, the Jedi Council always went to great lengths to prevent any attempts to do so.

 _You're not ready,_ they constantly told them. _You're too young, too inexperienced. As Padawans, you are not yet strong enough in the Force, and you know little of the concepts and the seriousness of war. Not yet have you been chosen by fate and destiny._

A reasoning both flawed, questionable, and suspicious.

Larina understood their supposedly good intentions, bearing little confidence in her own strength in the lightsaber and in the Force. Yet, for Tinarandel, he was regarded as the strongest in their Clan and circle of Knights, learning the Soresu Form at a near-prodigious pace and specializing in the unorthodox ability of Force Cloak. They both wondered then why the Order restricted both of them from leaving Dantooine and going to lend their aid in the fight against the Mandalorians.

Thus, for 15 standard years, few Jedi from Dantooine ever experienced true war.

In those ensuing two weeks after Tinarandel and Larina professed their love for each other, both of them (alongside Tinarandel's siblings, Divan, and Master Larring) were at last called upon to do their part to combat the Mandalorians. Unfortunately, amid the chaotic battles on Dxun, the two lovers became separated from one another. She didn't hear from him until after the sieges ended.

The first thing she heard was his screaming.

She tailed it from the camp into the jungles. There, what she saw hiding under the white stargazer lily flowers broke her heart.

Tinarandel sat on his knees, cradling the broken lifeless bodies of his siblings, their armor and flesh slashed and bled mercilessly by deadly ground traps. The survivor himself was weeping inconsolably as he rocked back and forth amongst the lilies, younger sister Isidith wrapped in his arms and oldest brother Vadrieriand in his lap.

She moved carefully to his side, but not noticing her, he raised his head and shouted his soul into the sky. A cry of horror, of heartbreak, of grief, anguish, and agony. After that, he hopelessly lowered his head again and buried it in his deceased siblings' chests.

All Larina could do was remain behind in the trees and weep with him.

The Order held a private funeral for all the fallen ones on Dantooine. Tinarandel did not speak a single word in the days following. For a solid week, neither lover spoke directly to each other, lest their mystery be exposed.

In the end, less than a standard month later, Tinarandel ultimately abandoned the Jedi Order. He rendered himself invisible using his expertise in Force Cloak and inborn Squirrelan treejumping abilities. No one noticed him leaving.

When the Council learned of his disappearance, they enlisted Larina, Divan, and Larring to scour the Galaxy and bring him home.

"He may have fallen into darkness, or turned blind on the Force and sworn off his Jedi associations." they claimed. "Whichever the case, none can persist. Bring him home. Guide him out of the Dark Side. Grant him peace, comfort, and safety in the Light Side of the Force."

It for the most part became the two Knights' obligation to find him. Larring, being the most Forcewise attached to them (in every sense of the word), merely acted as their supervisor and counsellor.

Now Larina clutched the delicate necklace to her aching chest as the memories flooded back into her mind. She drew heavily on the Force to stop the stinging hot tears rising in her pained eyes, repeating to herself the first precept of the Jedi Code:

 _There is no emotion, there is peace._

Yet nothing stopped her chest from heaving with silent sobs of hopeless longing. Longing for the dead and gone past, the carefree joyful peacetimes before the Wars; longing for Tinarandel's great return to the Jedi Order out of an orange and purple sunrise, and into her warm adoring arms.

Longing for a future never to happen.

* * *

Divan never forgot the Battle of Dxun. He never strayed from the duties entrusted to him.

The night before, after dinner at the camp, Tinarandel made Divan promise a stalwart oath. In the event that anything happened to him out in the battlefield, Divan was to take it upon himself to care for his siblings, his sole remaining family. The young Tonaka swore by the Force, and Tinarandel took him on his word.

The day after, the Squirrelans became irreversibly separated. Divan assumed that his Knight brother had been transferred to the command of Meetra Surik with Larina. He later found himself in the company of Larring, Isidith and Vadrieriand, and numerous others whose names now escaped him.

Lightsabers blazing, war cries bellowing, and their Jedi robes and capes billowing in the gnarly winds, they charged the Mandalorian forces. Divan recalled storming the forsaken headquarters and slaughtering the volunteers who'd stayed behind to mount a futile defense. Needless to say, they emerged victorious.

Later, the Republic set out to hunt for the various weapons caches and munitions left behind at the request of Mandalore the Ultimate. Several Jedi joined them. All fell horrifically to the traps and other tricks set by their adversaries.

Not long after, Divan heard the screams that to this day, still haunted his nightmares and waking dreams.

He never forgave himself for his failure to protect them. He knew Tinarandel never forgave him, either. Forgiveness always gifted itself at a cost, and Divan feared one day paying the price. He expected that sometime in the not so distant future, the demons of his past mistakes will return to haunt him…if they weren't haunting him already.

Curiously, he felt a familial security in Larring's protective embrace, and a platonic warmth he'd forgotten since the tragedies at Dxun in the company of Larina. But the regret stubbornly lingered in the corners of his mind. In the currents of the Force, he sensed that something of the Dark Side was relentlessly drawing closer and closer along each mile crossed through hyperspace.


	4. Tensions on Taris

**Taris Airspace and Sith Base**

 _ **BOOM!**_

The _Defender_ -class corvette Sith starship _Pegasus Javelin_ wobbled slightly as it exited the Hydian Way out into the airspace of Taris. Its pilots punched the controls and methodically entered its atmosphere.

Nothris granted Tinarandel liberation from the cockpit, as he'd done his part. The Apprentice took the ripe opportunity to rest amongst the beeping and glowing navigation machines. The Master meanwhile cruised through the Tarisian skies.

Much to Tinarandel's displeasure, right before they'd left the Burning Deck, Nothris visited Quanoe one final time and invited him to come along. The Zabrak, being the enthusiastic wanderer downright starved for knowledge, jumped at the invitation before Nothris even finished his first sentence. From the Master's perspective, Quanoe was a tentative guest. From Tinarandel's, he was nothing more than dead weight. Back in the Cantina, he'd earlier questioned his master as to this risky proposal. Ever the pragmatic realist, Nothris responded with his natural brutal honesty.

 _"The Zabrak is here because he is the only one who knows the treasure is on Korriban,"_ He explained, throwing on his cloak and tossing Tinarandel's to him as they cleared out of the cantina. _"None of the other Sith know except for us two now. Where exactly is still, for the time being, unknown, whether it lies in a tomb or a valley or a cave. His research in particular is critical. Korriban, as you know, holds countless incomprehensible secrets, all born of the essence of the Dark Side. Regardless of whether or not Quanoe is touched by the Force, we can at least hope that his familiarity with the system is reliable. If not, and he proves to be less knowledgeable and more fraudulent….Of course I give you permission to cauterize his esophagus. You don't need to tolerate him; for the time before us, simply focus on keeping him alive."_

Begrudgingly, Tinarandel learned to tolerate the scholar's presence. Yet he was not without his doubts. He forcibly restrained himself from redrawing his lightsaber when the Zabrak made a foolhardy attempt to provoke him.

"Almost had me by the neck there, eh?" Quanoe teased in his usual mocking tone. He rubbed his lower back with one hand and massaged his aching shoulders with the other. "Heh, my spine's feeling better after you nearly snapped it. You can't keep a good Zabrak down, you know! My parents were soldiers, aye, in the Iridonian military. What are you?!"

Quanoe's resonant baritone voice rose until it nearly matched the rumbling droning din of the starship's engines. "A Squirrelan of Corellia crying out in the night for his siblings, dead in the war! What have you to say for yourself, huh? What have you indeed?!"

To his own surprise and irritation, Tinarandel seated himself in a small chair, eerily silent. Quanoe, driven by his bravado, stood in front of him, sneering. A couple awkward minutes passed, in which neither said nothing to the other. Nothris was too engrossed in navigating the appearing Taris cityscape emerging from the morning moderate fog.

Finally, Tinarandel looked Quanoe straight in the eyes, his voice a gravelly threatening growl and his cocoa brown eyes steadily darkening. "Would you like me to throw you against the wall again? Will being thrown even harder this time grant you some sense of thrill? You enjoy thrills, don't you? You and your insatiable thirst for materialism, and your never-ending quest to learn all the secrets of the Jedi and the Sith. Well, guess what? I meant what I said about not pressing your luck. You'd best be tempted to take my advice."

A faint look of convinced terror crossed Quanoe's face, reminiscent of the same upon his countenance when Tinarandel had tossed him across his cantina room. Resigned to his station as little beyond the visitor to the Sith Base on Taris, Quanoe relented and stumbled towards a chair parallel to Tinarandel. The Squirrelan exhaled and lay back in his seat, eventually falling asleep.

He awoke to Nothris gently prodding him out of his stupor, who then helped him out of the straps and to his feet. They made sure to wake Quanoe before descending the loading ramp onto a flat circular landing platform suspended in the sky. The Squirrelan and Zabrak hurriedly cleared the sleep from their eyes and took after him to the main gate. In their direct vision, the Sith Base rose up to meet the trio.

"I feel I'm due for a meditation session, Master." Tinarandel admitted as they approached the main doors, and waited while Nothris punched in a password on a number pad hanging on the wall. "I lost control of myself back there in the Cantina. The fault is partly Quanoe's and also mine. His provocations pushed me over the edge. For that I apologize, Master."

 _"Falling so quickly into Jedi fallacies, my young apprentice?"_ Nothris once again ruffled his hair and stepped aside from the opening doors. _"But, I agree, your anger was too ripe. Your apology is accepted. Nevertheless, in the future, I must ask that you contain your anger and hatred until the appropriate time comes for you to use it. When it does – and I swear to you, it will –, use those darkest emotions of yours without restraint. That, my boy, is the way of the Sith."_

"I understand, Master." Tinarandel bowed his head respectfully and tailed the Ithorian inside the main lobby of the base. "May I also note that my lightsaber skills, too, have become seriously rusty. Perhaps it is a result of sitting for so long in that stupid cantina. I know you cannot tolerate such laziness."

Nothris shook his hammerhead face. They stopped dead center in the Atrium, nodding at Sith who passed by to welcome them home. He stared at Tinarandel grimly.

 _"No, I cannot tolerate it, though I greatly admire your self-awareness. We Sith must always be ready for battle of any and every kind, wherever and whenever it may appear. As for your unintended boredom in the cantina, the fault is entirely mine. If Quanoe had met me halfway for the issue at hand, you'd not have needed your lightsaber and I wouldn't have forced you to wait so long. So, I take the brunt of the blame, but you do not need to forgive me if you don't want to."_

"Underestimatin' yer apprentice much, are ye, Trook?"

Behind them, a brown broad-chested muscular Rat strode towards Tinarandel, standing at approximately six feet, clad collarbone to toes in red and gray steel plate armor, and his black velvet cape smoothed from his shoulders down to his ankles. Towering over the apprentice, he walked up to and placed a firm paw on his shoulder. The other paw casually stroked the thin triangular beard that decorated his wrinkled brown round face down the lining of his jaw and chin, and then the thick mop of sleek black hair and bangs on his head.

He gave the pair a good-natured smirk and chuckled a bit. "Then again, constructive criticism is a powerful motivator, ain't it?"

Tinarandel found himself scowling yet bowed his head again. "Hello, Lord Baric." Nothris only nodded silently.

"Welcome back, ye two. I trust yer mission was successful?" Baric inquired, playfully squeezing Tinarandel's shoulders. Nothris snorted in annoyance and derision through his speech translator but did not transmit a word.

Tinarandel took up the duty instead, growling low in his throat at Baric shaking him lightly into his side. "Depends upon your definition of successful, my Lord. We found what we searched for, although it – or should I say, _he_ – needed much convincing, involving my lightsaber at his throat."

"Oh, really?" Baric wondered in sarcastic but obvious genuine inquiry. "Aggressive means, hmm? My, I'm impressed!"

He became so absorbed in his postured laughter that he completely missed the looks of disgust and contempt exchanged between the duo. Tinarandel forcibly pulled himself free of Baric's grip and frantically wiped off the latter's filthy touch.

Suddenly, he remembered that Quanoe had been left outside. In one swift motion, he both excused himself and hurried back to the main doors, opening them back up to see the Zabrak standing cluelessly with a confused hand raised possibly to knock. Huffing irritably, Tinarandel seized him by the collar of his tunic and heaved him indoors.

Quanoe first blinked tiredly at the overhead lights, then snapped up the moment he understood his setting and began excitedly searching his tunic for his tools.

"Th-the Base! The Sith Base on Taris! By my ancestors, I'm-I'm really here! I've been wanting to visit this place for so many standard years! Where are my holopads, I must start taking notes! Where do I go first?! What do I do first -?!"

Tinarandel smothered Quanoe's mouth and dragged him to Nothris and Baric.

"Here's the guy my Master contacted," he explained to Baric. "Thank the Force, we almost forgot about our…extra weight here. His name is Quanoe. You two seem to be of a like troublesome mind."

The Apprentice couldn't help but smile at his own witty remark, and didn't bother shifting his demeanor even Nothris struggled to suppress a snicker in his hands or when Baric looked sideways in disapproval at him.

Baric then stared at Quanoe superciliously for a short moment, putting his hands protectively behind his back lest the awkward Zabrak offer to shake them. "Greetin's, Quanoe. I'm Baric, Dark Lord o' th' Sith. Ye already know where ye are. Tell me, what is yer occupation, an' why are ye 'ere on Taris?"

Quanoe, nervous in the presence of not one but two Sith Lords now, shuffled his feet nervously, shifting his weight from one to the other. It was all Tinarandel and Nothris could do to keep themselves from laughing out loud at his foolish awkwardness. It didn't take him long to step up. He steeled his resolve and summoned his brave Zabrak attitude.

"The honor to meet you, Lord Baric, is mine. I, Quanoe of Iridonia, am a freelance scholar of the Sith. I have sought out, researched, and hunted for artifacts of the Force to build a personal collection for several standard years now. Everything from ancient texts to precious heirlooms, to enchanted treasures and the darkest of Sith weaponry; even Holocrons have been the objects of my pursuits. Unfortunately, I have not succeeded in obtaining any of the last. I roam the Galaxy regardless as a nomad driven by my thirst for knowledge. Nar Shaddaa was no different. That…did not go well, to say the least."

"It's your own fault, Quanoe. You brought your adversity on yourself." Tinarandel jabbed through gritted teeth. Nothris smirked, agreeing. Quanoe glared hard at Tinarandel, and felt slightly offended when he did not retaliate.

"I'm only here on Taris because your compatriots brought me along, at Nothris' invitation." He concluded. "Again, it's an honor, my Lord. I wish to learn more about the Sith history, lifestyle, and nature of the Dark Side from you and the others. My desire to learn has become no less ravenous by my lack of the Force."

 _"Ravenous it shall remain,"_ Nothris criticized under the warble of his translator. Only Tinarandel noticed it and nodded his accord.

Baric surveyed the wisdom-starved Quanoe for a tense minute. Then he relaxed his pose and brought his paws forward again, letting them swing relaxed by his sides. He glanced over his shoulders and pointed a rat claw in the opposite direction, disappearing into the corridors of the Base.

"Well, th' Archives are thataway. I'll escort ye. Though I'm certain a Zabrak has but t' follow th' scents o' books an' scrolls, an' parchment, vellum, an' papyrus, eh? Shouldn't be too hard! Scholars like yerself are naturally drawn t' sources o' mysticism an' arcane truth!"

Tinarandel and Nothris detected the clear hints of contempt and sarcasm in his voice, and now both found themselves stuck in the most difficult position to contain their budding laughter. The Apprentice released Quanoe, who hopped instantly to the ignorant Baric's side, bouncing excitedly on his Zabrak toes. The latter once again pointed in the direction of the Sith Archives, and Quanoe took a few steps forward before stopping to wait for his guide. His face shone in anxious anticipation for the wonders he would soon behold.

Baric genuflected to Nothris and Tinarandel. "I'll be back t' check on ye two later, after I've secured an' rid myself o' this…over-energetic moron in his madness o' hoardin' an' wastin' our precious knowledge. Good day."

The Rat swirled his cloak dramatically behind himself before he whirled on his heels, took Quanoe by the arm, and escorted him away. At last glad to be rid of both, the Master and Apprentice rejoined each other.

 _"Oh, dear, I pray he doesn't lose his heart and soul in whatever he finds."_ Nothris pretended to confess with mixed manufactured concern and natural cynicism.

"What does it matter?" Tinarandel politely countered, grinning from ear to Squirrelan ear. "He's already lost his brain!"

The two nearly bowled over in their laughter, leaning on each other as their legs shook and guts ached to bursting. Around them, their random hilarity drew looks of cluelessness, disapproval, and joint lightheartedness. After they recovered, Nothris gestured a palm towards a large elevator.

 _"I'm not sure about you, but I am famished. Let's reward ourselves for our efforts on Nar Shaddaa with our Tarisian cuisine, shall we?"_

They boarded the elevator that separated the landing zone from the Base proper, enduring both warm welcomes from fellow Sith, who cheerfully shook their shoulders or bowed humbly; and bitter derisions from jealous competitive Apprentices who shot them hating glances or spat at their feet. As the box started its ascent, Nothris rapidly employed a mild form of Force Stasis to halt the flying saliva in their trajectories. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Tinarandel balling his fists, his furry face blank with indecisive reactions.

 _"They are jealous of you, my young Apprentice."_ Nothris counseled him as they exited the box out into the crowded Barracks. _"They envy that you are in my Apprenticeship and not them. They fear your power at present, and what power you will obtain in the future, whether under my teachings or those other Masters and Lords. You must remain passionate in your stance, Tinarandel. Remember, we Sith are driven by passion."_

"What if my passion is not sufficient to surpass the others?" Tinarandel questioned, sincerely troubled and becoming faintly despondent in both voice and countenance. "What if I am not good enough for you and the other Lords?"

Nothris stopped in his tracks and placed his assuring Ithorian hands on the Squirrelan's shoulders, looking determinedly into his cocoa brown eyes. _"Trust not in what you have been, Tinarandel. Trust only in what you are, and will eventually become."_

A fondness decorated the Ithorian's large pupils, and an affectionate lightness sewed itself into his voice emanating from the translator. _"As for your passion, you will always be good enough for me. What matters is whether or not you are enough for yourself. Think on that, Tinarandel. Meditate on it. Your answers shall come in time; either you'll find them, or they'll find you first."_

Tinarandel felt a hopeful smile pull at his lips and a confident shine burn in his eyes. He nodded at Nothris in appreciation and followed him down the passage. As they started in the direction of the Dining Halls, they slowed down at the sight of an orange-brown Vixen running towards them. Elegant sleeveless purple robes patterned with red dots over a black blouse and a violet skirt formed her slender and smooth body; and she wore soft leather shoes and black fingerless gloves on her creature feet and paws.

Nothris nodded cordially at the approaching Vixen. _"Good noon, Antellia!"_

Antellia, a Sith Apprentice, returned the nod to Nothris and curtsied low to Tinarandel. "Good noon, you two!" She greeted in her classic Coruscant posh accent. "I'd heard tell from the others that you'd returned from Nar Shaddaa; and so, I thought I would come and see for me curious self."

 _"Your concern is much appreciated, Antellia."_ Nothris assured her. _"We were on our way to lunch. Would you like to accompany us?"_

Antellia hopped on her toes in excitement. "One of Taris' most underrated Sith Masters and his fledgling Squirrelan Apprentice? Of course I would like to accompany you! Come!" She swirled her ankle-length purple cloak while turning back around.

"We haven't seen each other much lately, Tinarandel." Antellia observed to the Squirrelan as they took off to the Dining Hall. "Both of us have been busy of late."

"Frankly, I'd appreciate it if you could mind your own business." Tinarandel requested in the politest tone he was able to muster, scarcely bothering to make eye contact.

Antellia leaned lightly on Tinarandel's side and placed one alluring thin smooth Vixen arm on his shoulder. She flirtatiously stroked the edges of his collarbone with her claws. "Your business is my business, Tinarandel." She spoke his name with an undeniable seductiveness. "I wondered every day what strange Sith endeavors you were up to on Nar Shaddaa."

She suddenly stumbled backwards, removed completely by a Force Push that Tinarandel had summoned – _and without even lifting a finger_. The Vixen scoffed, as if offended, and hurried to realign her pace with him and Nothris.

"I know you, Tinarandel." Antellia shamelessly observed, staring deep into his eyes. "I have known you ever since your joining of the Sith Empire. You know me, too: my gift of precognition." Her smooth silky voice melted almost into a seductive breath as she stared at him from the side.

"You know I dream of us together someday, when the Galaxy is at peace and the Sith rule over all. When we will have our chance to be together, and our passion grows beyond our control. We will have – _take_ – each other in love. Don't deny you haven't seen the truth as well, Tinarandel, as I always have."

Tinarandel stepped in front, blocking her stride. Antellia nearly jumped in shock at his normal cocoa brown eyes barely growing golden-yellow. His voice came forth in contained aggression.

"I know your ilk, Vixen." His eyes bored into hers with an intolerant impatience. "I know your inborn precognition, characteristic of your race and enhanced by the Force. Don't test my tolerance. My passion and my destiny are mine to forge, and I will not have them restrained by anyone, least of all, _you_." He uttered the final word through gritted teeth, his voice guttural and heavy in his throat.

"You'll either stand with me, or stand aside."

Not bothering to wait for an answer, Tinarandel moved to continue walking before Antellia stopped him, her paw again on his shoulder and gripping rather tightly.

"Such absolutes, coming from you, a former Jedi. You and your lack of insight will benefit you nothing." She raised her voice from a whisper of awe to a shouting criticism.

What came next surprised even herself.

"You shall never become a Sith!"

Tinarandel stopped in place, his mind blanked. At the other end of the corridor, halted at the door to the Dining Hall, Nothris gasped through his translator. Tinarandel took a moment to consider his next words before facing Antellia again.

"You're right, I'll never be a Sith. But damned I'd be if I'm not trying my best. We'll see in the end which one of us triumphs over the other. Now stand aside. I'll not tell you a third time."

Antellia dared not say a word in retaliation, so Tinarandel hurried back to Nothris, who pushed the cafeteria doors open to pass through. Tinarandel, in his tense fury, followed.

Nothris broke fearlessly broke through the fog of anger clouding his Apprentice's mind. _"Quite a show of attitude you put on there. While I am impressed, you could've at least shown Antellia more…respect."_

"Respect?" Tinarandel repeated, no doubt disgusted at the word. "And why should I give her any respect, when she has shown me virtually none ever since I first joined the Empire?"

Finding no statements to argue against a logically sound point, Nothris fidgeted with the translator on his neck, and at length, replied. _"I cannot properly discern Antellia's feelings for you, but my theory is that they are – and at the same time, are not – those of the positive or constructive kind. Her desire and longing for you seem…uninhibited, to say the least."_

Tinarandel fell in line with the other Sith Warriors by a winding lengthy conveyer belt of various mouth-watering meat and vegetable dishes. Before he let his appetite get the better of him, he stated to Nothris with a tone of authoritative assertion, "I have justified reason to turn her away. My passion of the flesh is not of equivalent measure to hers. My interest in her is practically nonexistent."

 _"Because of_ _ **her**_ _."_

Tinarandel extended a paw to take a plate of a well-done steak garnished with cilantro and spinach from the belt, when Nothris uttered the pronoun. He knew that the Ithorian sensed him fuming, but did not meet his alien eyes.

"Now is not the time to discuss this, Master." He protested through clenched teeth.

Nothris came abreast of Tinarandel, pressing into him unceasingly. _"I remember the day you told me everything of what happened on Dxun. You confessed to me of your forbidden love for your fellow Jedi Knight, and the night you two revealed them to each other on Dantooine. You trusted me to keep secret those two truths between the two of us, and I have done exactly that for the past two standard years. Has your confidence in me not diminished, Tinarandel? I know you feel nothing towards Antellia because your heart still belongs to that young Jedi."_

When the Squirrelan made no reply, Nothris levitated the chosen platter and placed it carefully into his furry paws. He was about to elaborate further on his points when the former spoke up, reading and speaking the exact words in his mind, no doubt done through the essence of their Force Bond.

"I know you will not force me to do anything, Master. My feelings and emotions are my own. I still feel my romantic love towards that girl who was almost mine to love, so I have the freedom to do so. Love is love.

You think I don't still remember the Battle of Dxun. I remember every ounce of my anger, rage, despair, fear and grief that tortured me from the loss of my siblings. I know the ways of the Sith. These passions empower me, motivate me, drive my actions as an agent of the Dark Side.

I chose this path of vengeance. Thus, the duty falls to me to remain consistent on that straight and narrow way. While I am not yet Sith, as Antellia said, my status as a Dark Jedi is only the beginning, my first stepping stone on this unimaginable path. Furthermore, rest assured, Master: my confidence in you has not and will never diminish."

Nothris caught himself impressed by his student's proactive discourse. Uninterested in creating any counterargument, he and Tinarandel left the conveyer belts with their meals. Then they took a table and feasted like starved Gundarks.

In his peripheral vision, Tinarandel noticed Antellia picking up her lunch and seating herself in a chair parallel to him. But no matter how hard Nothris pushed them, neither would speak directly to each other. The trio so resorted to dining in an awkward and fragile silence.

* * *

They returned to the Atrium equally without a single word spoken between them. Antellia, newly confident in her feelings for Tinarandel, encouraged herself by conversing with some of her fellow female Sith, who walked off in excited gossiping spirits into the corridors leading to the other parts of the Base. The Master and Apprentice were left alone.

Nothris widened his eyes in realization. _"At the very least, someone ought to go check on the Zabrak."_

Tinarandel nodded indifferently. "I was just about to suggest that. My instincts are telling me to go find him. I hope Baric hasn't cut him to pieces already."

 _"That, or he's gone and buried his nose and horns deep in a book, or damaged our sacred scrolls with the oil from his filthy hands. If he's done both or either, you may cut him to pieces yourself. Good luck, my Apprentice, pulling him out of the area."_

Nothris patted Tinarandel heartily on the back and aligned his own cloak. _"I will remain here. There are other Sith Lords whom I'd have words with. Keep your comlink online, I may contact you later."_

"Understood, Master." Tinarandel agreed, and the two parted.

When Tinarandel arrived, he marveled greatly at the vast assortment of wooden and rock shelves standing enormous and inviting across a 10-feet rectangular stone room. Archaic papyrus scrolls, obscure tablet rubbings, history books scrawled in a cryptic language, and much more. All were collected over standard decades from the darkest corners of the Galaxy, and carefully preserved on Taris for the Sith of the future to study and learn from of the ways of the Dark Side.

He himself often spent much of his free time in these Archives, when not traveling around Taris or the Outer Rim, training with his lightsaber, or performing whatever tasks Nothris required of him. Numerous times, the Ithorian had found him late at night, his head resting on the table surrounded by open tomes and unrolled scrolls. He always looked like a schoolboy tuckered out from extensive homework. Rather than scolding his apt student for his lack of judgement after the Archives had closed for the night, every single time, Nothris instead made sure to gently wake and escort him to his personal dormitory on the other side of the Base. Thank the Darkness for elevators and cable cars.

Tinarandel now stretched out with the Force and searched for the Zabrak guest (although he loathed to use that word, given that Quanoe was basically anything _but_ a guest). Detecting the presence to his left, he began to search for the scholar within the maze of shelves.

He finally located him sitting at a long table of solid mixed granite and concrete, the materials fused together by extraordinary Sith sorcery. Predictably, his face was buried between the pages of a leather-bound maroon history book.

Quanoe stopped short of turning a page and turned over his shoulder to see the Squirrelan standing there, and snorted aloud.

"I began to wonder when one of you madmen would come to check on me."

Tinarandel didn't flinch, much to Quanoe's disappointment. "Consider it a professional courtesy rather than a personal favor." He explained flatly, and began to move to Quanoe's side. "You're not a scholar here; you're barely a guest. Strangely fortunate that you're even _allowed_ to be in here. What is that you're reading?"

Quanoe hesitated to show the book, but then relented and lifted the cover. "You ever read this one? Most mind-opening beauty I've ever laid my eyes on."

Tinarandel read the title, and smirked. "' _Grandest Names and Grander Evil Accomplishments of the Ancient Sith_ '. That one? I don't believe so. What's in it?"

Quanoe snickered as he set it down on the table. "As the budding Dark Jedi, I'd hoped you'd tell me."

The Squirrelan telekinetically pulled a chair to the Zabrak's left side and sat down in it. "Well, fess up or I start biting." He ordered with a tone harder than the rocks surrounding them. "What's going on?"

Unintimidated, Quanoe pointed to the page he'd just finished reading. "Look there, in the middle. Do you know that name?"

Tinarandel leaned over and read the name. "'Nagrig Deathblade'? Who in the Galaxy is he?"

Quanoe contorted his face into mock disbelief and offense. "You don't know? You're the Sith wannabe, the eager pupil of Trook Nothris himself, deserter of the Jedi, learner of the Dark Side, and you _don't know_? Shame upon you, Squirrelan!"

Tinarandel threw his paws up in clueless disbelief, using the Force to keep his voice down. "What is so special about Nagrig Deathblade?!"

Quanoe all of a sudden laughed uproariously, mocking the Squirrelan's skepticism. But he quickly ceased when the other Sith in the Archives turned in their chairs and glared furiously at him. He verbally apologized and leaned in close to Tinarandel's face until they were nose-to-nose.

"Everything, young Apprentice. After all, it's _**HIS**_ treasure you're chasing."

* * *

"Deathblade?" Tinarandel scratched his furry head in absolute confusion. "But…none of the other books in the Archives have ever mentioned this particular Sith. I used to study in here for hours over days and weeks on end, reading and studying and learning, and not once have I ever come across such a name as his."

Quanoe pulled his nose away from the Squirrelan's and shook his head in disappointment. "Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself," he muttered accusingly, and passed him another book, and orange one, from a stack standing on his right side. "Here, see if you can cross-reference anything."

"Since when do I take orders from you?" Tinarandel challenged, his tough-as-nails defiant voice stabbing Quanoe.

Quanoe scarcely reacted, only letting his trademark smirk redecorate his features. "Since I showed you the very creature you've been looking for. Now get to cross-referencing!"

Tinarandel carefully turned the manuscript pages, growing more fretful and puzzled as the pages appeared void of the name Nagrig Deathblade. He looked up at Quanoe, scowling darkly.

"What am I missing?"

"Well, just like all the great Dark Lords before him, Nagrig Deathblade is rumored to be buried on Korriban." Quanoe chuckled teasingly, as if hiding some obscure secret. Tinarandel bit his lip to keep from ordering him to stop.

The Zabrak continued his thought, grinning a Cheshire grin and baring his teeth. "But then again, no one knows exactly where his tomb lies. Whatever standard age he lived in, whether or not he ever knew or came into physical contact with all the great ancient Sith are mysteries lost to the ages. Nobody really knows. So, good luck finding Deathblade! You're going to need it!"

Tinarandel stomped to his feet, slamming down the orange book and laying his palms flat on the parchment-covered table. "Where did you get this information? How came you by the knowledge that Deathblade's tomb is on Korriban? What proof is there that he ever created a treasure?"

Quanoe smothered his snickering into his palms and seized a moment to compose himself. "Of course, you're not thinking hard enough. I'm not talking about a treasure in the nature of gold and silver. By the Force, no! I'm speaking in terms of something much more…supernatural in nature. Something only the Force can create. I told you the truth, didn't I? All the clues point to Korriban."

He snorted a final time in conclusion. "I'll leave it to your so-called educated mind to figure that out. And as for how I came by my information, let's just say that persistence and perseverance have their benefits, and I have been on the hunt for these truths for many, many standard years now. That's why I jumped at Nothris' opportunity to accompany you to Taris. I figured it'd be the best chance to see your Archives, and I'd heard the stories of a Sith Base on the system. My assumptions have now been proven true. Now, the treasure will be all mine once it's found. What kind of scholar would I be if I didn't claim what rewards was looking for?"

Tinarandel was about to counter the question using another scathing and snarky retort, when his comlink beeped on his utility belt.

"I'm here, Master." He promptly answered.

 _"Tinarandel?"_ Nothris' voice crackled clearly through the communicator. _"I hope I've not interrupted anything."_

"Nothing, Master, we just finished." Tinarandel explained bluntly. "Is everything all right?"

 _"Yes, everything is all right – for the moment."_ Nothris reassured, though Tinarandel discerned a hint of light stress in the Ithorian's voice. _"Return to the Atrium as soon as you can. Lord Baric has a…request…for you."_

"I'll head there straightaway, Master." The Apprentice obeyed, continuing in his bluntness. "Wait for me." Tinarandel switched off the comlink and stuffed it gently in the leather pouch on his belt.

"Someone's in trouble!" Quanoe jived in a sadistic sing-song voice.

Tinarandel flipped his middle fingers in Quanoe's direction, causing the last word to nearly choke in the Zabrak's throat. Grumbling, Quanoe helped him return the books to their proper shelves, and then hurried out the electronic double doors after the Dark Jedi.

Totally ignoring his company, the Squirrelan increased his pace at the very nanosecond the Archives sealed itself behind them. Quanoe shuffled his hard leather Iridonian shoes to keep up.

They found Nothris and Baric standing in the center of the Atrium, where they'd met earlier that morning. Nothris looked nervous and unsure of the situation, shuffling his feet and trying to hold back argumentative words. Baric showed his usual cynical smirk painted across his Rat face, grinning wickedly. Tinarandel did not hesitate to approach them.

 _"There you are,"_ Nothris exhaled in relief. _"I informed Lord Baric about your fear of your lightsaber skills becoming rusty over the past week, and -,"_

"Please, Trook, leave th' explanations t' those who proposed 'em!" Baric interrupted rudely. He clapped his gloved paws on Tinarandel's shoulders, causing the Squirrelan to shudder slightly under the unwanted physical pressure.

"What I want, boy, is a chance t' cure yer lightsaber ailments. 'Eard from Trook ya were 'fraid yar skills 'ave gotten rusty because ya 'ave been travelin' all over tha Galaxy, eh? Well, 'ave no fear! I, Lord Baric o' th' Sith, am 'ere t' 'elp ya get whipped back inta shape! Let's go t' th' Dojo! Shall we?"

Tinarandel stared in confusion to Nothris, who shrugged nonchalantly and gestured to follow Baric. Feeling a tad defeatist and suspicious, Tinarandel reluctantly locked himself into the Rat's overconfident strides, Nothris hot on his heels.

Quanoe also come up on Baric's left, bouncing on his feet as usual. "Am I truly about to witness an up-close and personal Sith vs. Sith lightsaber duel? Is this really happening? This sounds so exciting!

Neither the two middle-aged Sith Lords nor the younger Dark Jedi bothered to entertain the notion of answering him.

As they with the Zabrak in tow approached the Dojo, they stopped to scan their palms on the electronic locks that sealed it. Nothris thrust Quanoe through beside him. Before Tinarandel entered, he looked behind to see Antellia and her friends coming his way. He said nothing and swiftly rushed after the others.

They headed down another short dimly-lit passage before passing through another pair of automatic double doors, and at last emerging into an enormous hexagonal stone steel arena. Fifty feet high and twenty omnidirectional feet wide, it resembled something akin to a cage. Giant buzzing blood-red electric barriers loomed up to the black raftered ceiling and encompassed the central combat area, disconnected from surrounding rows and flights of seats for spectators. Slim rectangular overhead lights dotting the ceiling hummed noisily in constant monotonous low droning. The wide floor of thick gray steel enhanced the sounds of clashing crackling lightsabers; and the compressed hexagonal shape and their six-foot bifurcated stone walls housing the barriers demanded strategic and creative application for tactical battles.

Tinarandel, unlike his Masters, had spent little time in the Dojo over the past few weeks before his trip to Nar Shaddaa. His studies in the Archives kept his attention so consumed that he'd practically all but abandoned his lightsaber skills. But being given this opportunity to take on Lord Baric himself brought a freshness to his drive. He'd use this battle as a chance to sharpen his abilities in order to keep them from atrophying.

A couple other Sith opened the electric barriers and showed Quanoe and Antellia to their seats, while Nothris, Baric, and Tinarandel retreated into deep trenches built beneath the arena.

 _"Well, this is exciting, isn't it?"_ Nothris asked Tinarandel while they stretched, not bothering hide his sarcasm. _"Two on one may not seem fair, but Baric possesses unique strength in the Force. I'd be vigilant for his tricks if I were you, Apprentice."_

Tinarandel leaned his paw on the wall and pulled at his shoes and ankles. "Exciting isn't the word I'd use, Master. I must confess I enter the challenge in trepidation."

 _"For that I judge you not, my boy."_ Nothris unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and laid it flat in his Ithorian palms. Although iodized like his Apprentice's, it differed in color, featuring alternating gold and silver rings above and under an iron grip, and a magenta finish straight from the activator to the flat pommel stone. He stared at it contemplatively, lost in thought.

 _"But you know the conditions under which these duels operate. The Jedi do not understand, and thus are more passive than us. They accept their mistakes but learn nothing from them; taking defeat as is and not working to become any better than they are. In short, they take failure and defeat in stride, and remain blind to drive and ambition. We, on the other hand, do learn from our errors. We are more direct in our thinking, working to become stronger, smarter, sharper, and more powerful than our competitors. Whether we seek the praise and acclaim of others, or are solely out for our own gain is a matter of preference. It's either that…or suffer a destructive downthrow and its permanent consequences. Mistakes are their own forms of weakness and must be overcome and eliminated. What did I once tell you, Tinarandel, after the very first time we sparred together, in this very place a standard year ago?"_

"'Triumph, and be forever praised." Tinarandel pushed himself upright and began to methodically flex his arm and paw muscles as he recited their mantra. "'Fail, and be forever humiliated.'"

 _"The philosophy of the Sith, in ten simple words."_ Nothris summarized. He stared Tinarandel in the face in hard determination. _"Passion and strength, nothing less."_

"And if we lose?" Tinarandel matched his determined stare, yet a mild nervousness lay behind the whites of his eyes.

Nothris raised a finger, pulled the Squirrelan's lightsaber from his belt, and firmly placed it lengthwise in his left paw. _"Then I will be nonetheless proud of you for trying your hardest, regardless of win or loss. That being said, we must win, Tinarandel. Failure cannot be an option. Together, using our combined strength, we shall emerge the victors of this duel. That is the end goal. We can strive for no less."_

"I am a Dark Jedi, Master Nothris. I am a pseudo-Sith." Tinarandel stated in a furious attitude and fierce promise, more to himself than to his Master, while gripping his lightsaber tight and resting his thumb on the activator button.

"I have never allowed myself to settle for less."


	5. A Duel of Great Contempt

Clutching his lightsaber close to his chest, Tinarandel knelt down in the middle of the trench, sat on his ankles, and closed his eyes, descending into a meditative trance. Nothris stood beside him, patiently waiting.

He harnessed the Force to both calm his uncontrollably shaking nerves and to suppress the deafening pounding of his anxious heart in his Squirrelan ears. He internalized the Force within himself, centering every fiber of his being in its enveloping and empowering embrace. Finally, he cleared his mind until it became completely blank, and dwelt only on his negative feelings towards Baric. But despite that, he needed to remain as consistently focused and intuitive as possible throughout the intense battle.

Tinarandel wielded the lightsaber style known as Soresu, the third of the seven great disciplines known to both the Jedi and the Sith. He'd carried over his chosen specialty from his time with the Jedi. Soresu, or the Way of the Mynock, relied on tight bladework, simple feints and dodges, and a passive mentality in order to maximize coverage and cover the wielder's target attack zones. It may have sacrificed adrenaline-burning offense in favor of its more energy-restrained counterpart, it did not however suffer from a lack of intelligence. In essence, Soresu was a loose technical and purified refinement of the core concepts introduced in the first Form, Shii-Cho. For Tinarandel, the concept was simple: buckle down, center in the Force, hold his ground and wait out the storm.e'He'd

As for Baric, from the beginning since his joining of the Sith Empire, Tinarandel never truly did like him. Tolerated, maybe; but tolerance did not imply respect. Baric had always belittled and bullied Nothris, both physically and verbally. Apparently, Nothris was seen as the official proclaimed underdog of the Taris Sith Masters, being lesser in lightsaber aptitude and in his Force abilities. Yet, his recruitment of Tinarandel as his Apprentice, a former Jedi with a reputation of public disdain towards the Order, seemed to step up the Ithorian's esteem a little way in the eyes of the Masters. Baric, unconvinced, persisted relentlessly in his badmouthing against both the Master and Apprentice. He prided himself on feeding his own already inflated ego and blindfolding self-image. Now, at last, after two standard years of enduring this animosity, after building up a magnitude of anger, hatred, spent patience, and contempt, they were at last prepared to strike back.

Properly calmed, the Squirrelan opened his eyes and slowly got to his feet. Nothris met his eyes, the firm determination never wavering between them.

 _"Any last-minute questions, my boy?"_

Tinarandel nodded and posed the first question that pressed on his heart. "Is this meant to be a friendly sparring match, or brutal fight to the death?"

 _"The former, I'm hoping."_ Nothris exhaled expectantly. _"Because if Baric wanted us dead, he would've done it already, and done it himself. Keep your wits about you, Tinarandel. A split-second decision can mean the difference between victory and defeat."_

Nothris led Tinarandel out of the trench and onto the combat floor. The arena filled with cheers and applause, laced with hidden jeers and insults towards the pair. It took them less than a second for them to realize that all the cheering and praising was meant for Baric.

An overexcited Quanoe, not bothering to sit down in his assigned seat, jumped and whooped maniacally in the crowd. He almost stumbled onto the sizzling barriers when Antellia and one of her friends caught by the shoulders and forced him back into his chair.

"Are you mad?!" Antellia reprimanded the Zabrak, bellowing in his face. "Don't touch those! You'll vaporize yourself, I've seen it happen!"

"I'm just trying to have fun!" Quanoe protested, throwing his hands up in disbelief, the enthusiasm in his eyes not diminishing. "This is the first time I've ever seen a Sith duel! I'm going absolutely ecstatic here!"

Antellia growled deep in her Vixen throat at the Iridonian getting on her nerves. But she shrugged nonchalantly and settled back into her seat. "Fine, it's your funeral. Don't go complaining to the medbay if you lose your nose or something."

Quanoe, taken aback, dared not venture to debate, and so leaned back and sat in place, amazement slapped across his face.

Nothris and Tinarandel stood in place in the overhead red and white lights of the Dojo, watching in anticipatory tenacity as Baric emerged from his trench to raucous noise. The Rat raised a boasting paw to his audience and bowed extravagantly to them. The males applauded and roared wildly while the females swooned and sighed dreamily. The Sith Lord took advantage of the moment to draw energy from the reckless abandon and unlatched his cloak from his armor.

Meters away, the other two also stripped off their robes and tossed them away into the trench before making their way towards him, ignited lightsabers in paw and hand.

Baric smirked and opened his left paw to draw an orange lightsaber hilt to it, which he ignited in a reverse grip. Auras of crimson red cloaked the three combatants, and they began to slowly pace around each other.

 **Brrroonngg!**

The boom of a golden gong rung by the other Sith reverberated deafeningly around the room, signaling the start of the fight. Baric wasted no time charging into the fray, effortlessly switching from reverse to standard grip. Tinarandel planted his feet deep into the steel floor, still as a statue.

Nothris bolted forwards to meet his adversary face-to-face. He threw in a series of improvised sporadic blows and slashes, countered effortlessly by Baric's swift precise wrist-flicked parries. The Rat attacked and defended using the tip of his blade, and Nothris found himself jumping from side to side to avoid being stabbed. He became so focused that he missed the rocketing elbow to one of his mouths.

He staggered backwards and Tinarandel cried out in shock. Righting himself, he smacked the lips of his mouths, tasting warm blood between his buds. He turned over his shoulder to see Tinarandel wide-eyed in concern, his resolve slightly starting to slip. He met the Squirrelan's terrified look, and a steadfastness entered his mind. No matter what, he had to put on the greatest example, to be a dark model. Never failing or faltering, and giving every ounce of himself to this duel.

If he didn't, they'd never live down the embarrassments.

Gathering his wits, Nothris spat the accumulated blood onto the steel floor, gritted his mouths and fixed his lopsided translator, before swinging his lightsaber and jumping straight back into his elaborate cleaves and swings, and precise lunges and stabs interchangeably. His objective now was to break Baric's armor and attack his limbs.

Now Baric was in a state of surprise. The speed of how fast his fellow Master recovered from a hit that would easily shatter the jaw of a normal creature greatly impressed him. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and hurried to block Nothris' style of pure variety, known to all as Niman, the Way of the Rancor.

Nothris' yells punctuated every blow. Their heavy bludgeoning fury and light cuts forced Baric onto his knees. He slashed down onto the length of the latter's lightsaber, yet Baric strongly held his rooted ground and moved to dodge or block each blow. As his chosen style, the second discipline of Makashi, was limited in its inability to generate momentum, the most he could do was wait until Nothris, with his preference in the jack-of-all-trades style, burned himself out.

Or, he might as well just do it the more traditional Sith way.

"Come now, Trook," he jived, his clear white fangs reflecting the crimson light from their sabers as he smirked from ear to ear. "Ya're better than this! Don't want t' 'ppear weak for yar student, do ya?"

Nothris ceased his fury halfway through another blow, frozen in place. For a moment, Baric thought he perceived a faint insecurity in his beady eyes. However, the Ithorian, suddenly recognizing the tactic of Dun Möch, shook his head and clenched his mouths, glaring into Baric's cynical eyes.

 _"Whatever you're doing, Baric, it's not working."_

"Who said I wanted it t' work?" Baric laughed contemptuously, deftly intercepting a slash to his right temple. "Ya should be tellin' yarself those statements, me old frien'."

Nothris growled through his translator and raised his lightsaber to deliver another cleave. Baric suddenly swung to his left and pushed himself to his feet. Crying out in alarm, Nothris stumbled forwards, propelled by the momentum of his attack. Baric seized the perfect moment to shoot out his leg and trip Nothris; then slipped his lightsaber underneath and swatted Nothris' out of his hand. Nothris hovered a split second before hitting the floor face-first as his lightsaber flew off a few feet away.

"Master!" Tinarandel screamed from the back of the arena.

Nothris rolled over onto his back and summoned his deactivated lightsaber to his hand. When he opened his eyes, Tinarandel was running towards him.

"Hold on, I'm coming!"

Nothris pointed the hilt of his lightsaber to cease the Squirrelan's approach, ordering through another volume of blood. _"Stay back, boy, I've got this!"_

He reignited his weapon and climbed to his feet, again straightening his electronic translator; spat out the new blood and gripped the hilt with both long-fingered hands. His feet clattered on the metal floor, charging Baric once more.

Baric sneered, unfazed by the rapidity, placed one paw behind his back, lowering his saber diagonal to the ground. He eased into Makashi's classic stance, body sideways, feet aligned perfectly with one another, and smoothly retreating on the front foot and advancing on the back when necessary, the hilt of the lightsaber barely away from his fingers. Reliant strictly on precision and efficiency, turning his wrist when and where required, and not allowing a single thrust from Nothris to pass between his limb and torso.

He controlled the distance between himself and Nothris, closing or extending it but relatively keeping him at arm's length. He lingered in his one-pawed method, and when Nothris aimed for his right shoulder, he caught it vertically in the bind. Instantly on the advantage, he utilized the Riposte to slide Nothris' blade aside, slightly altering its angle before retaliating with a stabbing counterstrike to the latter's own shoulder.

Nothris gasped at the blade piercing through his robe into his skin and stepped back. He clutched at the cauterized wound, grimacing. Once he'd taken a proper look at it, minor in comparison to other more deadly places on his body Baric might have struck him, he shrugged off the pain and restarted the duel.

Once more, the Rat seemed unaffected by his antagonist's perseverance, clearly the mindset of a dedicated combat aestheticist specializing in the ceremonial Way of the Ysalamiri. Preoccupation with both elegance and grace continued to grant him the upper hand on the fight. Keeping this in mind, Baric prodded further into Dun Möch.

"Can ya 'andle th' pressure, Trook?" He began moving backwards on his front foot, precisely parrying every diverse move of Niman. "Are ya sure ya can set a real competen' example for yar Apprentice? Or would ya rather accept yar failure, determined by th' Dark Side before this battle ever began? Answer me, Trook!"

Nothris' growls had escalated into guttural shouts, and his translator on his neck buzzed and crackled under the vocal pressure. Tinarandel too stepped backwards as the raging Masters drew closer and closer in his direction.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nothris noticed the sizzling barriers surrounding him. He shifted his legs to his right, hoping to draw Baric to the side. When he felt the bifurcated walls at his back, he rolled to his left. Baric stabbed straight into the bisection under the base of the barriers. Two of the electronic pillars buzzed pitifully before shutting off. The audience on that side of the arena jumped out of their seats. Many of them scrambled to reseat themselves away from the destroyed fences.

Nothris glared angrily at Baric. _"Seriously?! Don't you know how expensive those are?"_

Baric shrugged ignorantly and raised his saber straight under the Ithorian's chin. "Yar credits, not mine!"

Nothris turned his eyes to either side of his hammerhead at the destroyed fences, leering. _"Made you look."_

Baric looked upwards at the dents he'd made on the walls. Two bloodred streams of lightning unleashed from the destroyed pillars shot outwards from their busted bases. Nothris rolled to his left, safely out of reach. Baric yelled out, but too late. The twin bolts stabbed him through the chest of his armor; he flew backwards approximately twelve feet before landing on the cold hard steel.

The audience booed at the unexpected fall of their champion. Baric held his chest and groaned in pain, rolling on his sides on the floor. He heard Nothris laughing and Tinarandel cheering. His eyes narrowed in boiling anger, and gingerly rose to his boots, clipping his lightsaber back on his belt.

Roaring in rage, he reached out the back of his palm to Nothris, raising him high into the air. He imagined that a crushing cord had been tied to his airborne enemy, grabbing at it and closing his fist to pull the Ithorian towards him. He read the Alien's pale face drained of blood. Baric instantly raised his other fist and laid a whipping sock at Nothris' hammer-shaped head, who fell in a crumpled helpless heap at his boots.

" _No!"_ Tinarandel screamed at the top of his lungs.

Nothris did not respond, only lying motionless under Baric.

Tinarandel gritted his teeth and glowered at the Rat furiously. _"Monster!"_

Baric stepped in front of the fallen Nothris, laughing sadistically and beckoning the Squirrelan in challenge. "Come at me, young warrior! Come hone your lightsaber skills! Come face your destiny!"

Tinarandel stopped in place and seamlessly reassumed the stance of Soresu, this time holding his blade high above his head and bending on his non-dominant leg, offpaw extended forwards as usual. Baric too twirled his reactivated saber in one paw and advanced on him, beginning a meticulous sequence of jabs.

Tinarandel stepped into the Circle of Shelter, shielding his body from the swiftness of the Makashi Form. While originally designed for blaster deflection, during his time as a Jedi, Tinarandel learned to adapt and calibrate a unique version of it geared specifically for lightsaber combat. His blade never moved more than a millimeter more than necessary. It covered every angle, every side, and maximized focus on his target zones. An impressed expression crossed Baric's countenance at the Squirrelan's borderline-prodigious (not to mention admirable) proficiency in the Way of the Mynock.

 _No doubt he studied this in his Jedi life,_ he theorized to himself. Although, he did note a frightful desperation subtly creeping into the lines of the Squirrelan's face.

All of a sudden, their blades locked tightly together, sizzling and crackling against one another. Baric stared down through the formed X shape at the fierceness in the Squirrelan's eyes.

"For somebeast so youn' an' inexperienced," He noted in a complimenting tone. "Ya're awfully more competent than I thought. Perhaps ya don't need yar skills 'oned as much after all."

"Well," Tinarandel confessed, his body straining under the pressure of the vermin's superior strength. "I have a lot of expectations to live up to!"

"Then live up t' this, boy!"

He rocketed his boot onto Tinarandel's, heel pressing into toes. Tinarandel yelped, and Baric summoned a Force Push to break the locked sabers, followed by the Contentious Opportunity to exploit Tinarandel's exposure and deliver searing hot lunges into his shoulders.

The Squirrelan stumbled backwards onto a section of the wall, hitting his upper spine on the stone. He recovered immediately to witness Baric twirling his hilt through his fingers. The very action mocked him.

His Master's mantra repeated through his mind.

 _Triumph, and be forever praised._

Nothris had tried to be the model for him, tried to be the shining sterling example, the dark leader he'd always desired to build himself to be. Now, the obligation fell to him, the less powerful, the less skilled Apprentice.

 _Or fail, and be forever humiliated._

He'd never let Nothris down. Not here, not now.

Never.

He harnessed the Force to push himself upright and realign his vertebrae.

"You want competence? I'll give you competence!"

Disregarding the aching burns in his forearms, he raised his lightsaber blade above his head, backwards at a 45° angle. Digging his heels into the metal, he broke into a moderate run, practically hurtling himself at Baric.

Next thing he knew, he was kneeling on the floor. Shooting out of Baric's fingers came a large web of Force Lightning, stopping Tinarandel mid-run.

Pushed down onto his knees, his body bending backwards under the strain of the Lightning, Tinarandel struggled against the second web crackling from Baric's furry fingers, spreading from his chest to his thighs. He cried out painfully and moved to stand up.

But Baric channeled more of the Force and bore down on Tinarandel with heavier and hotter streams on the Squirrelan's body. Tinarandel fell sideways on the floor, now writhing in indescribable pain.

It was as though thousands of volts were burning him from the inside out and the outside in. They penetrated his tunic through his fur into his nerves. They ignited his blood coursing through his veins and arteries and wrapped his muscles in blue flames. Thousands of electric knives whittled and sawed away at his bones. The torture from this raw power, such as he'd never experienced before, caused his body to violently convulse and contort. His lungs and vocal cords felt like they would burst from screaming himself hoarse.

Baric's face twisted in contempt and sadistic pleasure at the Squirrelan breaking down beneath him. He didn't hold back laughing as he drew even deeper on the Force, intensifying his every ounce of sadism, fueling the voltage of his Lightning – all to increase the torture.

Up in the stands, Quanoe stared open-mouthed, drawing backwards in his chair and clapping a hand to his mouth. His heart almost stopped in his chest. He curled up into a fetal position in the low seat and hid his face in the collar of his tunic.

"This is…I can't even say what this is!"

"I can't look!" One of Antellia's friends, a tattooed red-skinned Twi'lek, dug her face into the Vixen's shoulder. Antellia, horrified speechless, held her friend close and shut her own eyes. Hot tears sprang to them as the crowd around her wept for Tinarandel and acclaimed Baric.

Down in the Dojo, Baric showed no signs of stopping his debilitating assault on his woodlander victim.

Until…

 _"Baric! Enough! Stop it!"_

Baric furrowed his brow, recognizing the voice, and turned behind him to see Nothris standing, holding his throbbing head and limping clumsily. He thought he noticed tears in the Ithorian's eyes – tears of desperation, of pleading, of horror.

 _"Stop this madness, Baric! Let him go! You're killing him! That's enough!"_

Baric looked back at Tinarandel, still curling inwards and outwards, buckling under the electric strain. After a few more seconds, he lowered his hands. The last bolts struck Tinarandel's arms. The Squirrelan lay absolutely still, Lightning still coursing over his body.

Nothris rushed over, knelt down, and turned Tinarandel over in his lap. He pressed two fingers to his Apprentice's neck and channeled the Dark Side into him.

There came no response from the squirrel.

 _"No! No, no, no…!"_ Nothris cradled Tinarandel's head delicately in his lap, ignorant of his feverish heat while calling out to the spectators. _"No, no – he's not breathing! I can't find a pulse! Someone, please help!"_

Three Sith, two Masters and one Apprentice, jumped into action. The Apprentice fetched a stretcher while the Masters lifted Tinarandel onto it. Another Initiate opened the Dojo doors and led the way to the medbay.

All watched in deathly silence as Tinarandel disappeared into the corridors.

* * *

Nothris and Baric stood side by side behind an observation mirror, watching Tinarandel be sealed inside a med unit. Two medical droids hooked his broken form to the machine. A solid minute passed in silence.

 _Beep._

Nothris and Baric looked up as the heart monitor beeped to life. The droids nodded to them confirming the revival of Tinarandel's pulse. Nothris exhaled in relief and hung his head.

"'E should consider himself lucky," Baric commented callously. "I used barely 10% o' me fulles' power. If'n I decided t' use 100%, even that technology wouldn't fetch him back from th' brink o' death."

 _"Lucky!"_ Nothris fumed, snapping his eyes open and glowering at the Rat. _"How could you do this?! What did he ever do to you to deserve this torture?"_

"Does bein' yar frien' an' pupil count?" Baric snapped back, his paws in his pockets.

 _"You electrocuted my Apprentice!"_ Nothris retorted, enraged.

"I **educated** yar Apprentice!" Baric shamelessly corrected him, jabbing a finger into the Ithorian's body. "Let that be a lesson t' him not t' conten' against his betters!"

 _"Why?!"_ Nothris shook with budding sobs. _"He didn't deserve it!"_

Baric bit his lip to keep any argumentative words from exiting his mouth. He stared at the prone comatose form of Tinarandel lying in the med machine. Another tense silence passed, during which he heard Nothris' body heaving with sobbing.

He restrained himself from laughing. "What has compelled ya t' weep so, Trook? What is possibly yar connection t' th' boy?"

 _"That…is none of your business."_ Nothris whispered, his voice dry and low through his sorrow. _"Don't ask about it."_

But Baric already knew the answers.

"Ah…I see. Ya feel for th' boy."

Nothris clenched his fists and did not speak for several seconds. _"Yes, I do feel for him. I think of him as like my son."_

Baric hummed in understanding, followed by an ignorant snort. "Am I truly hearin' this from th' great Trook Nothris 'himself? From th' underdog o' th' Tarisian Sith? He is not one o' us, an' ya know that. An' yar dream? Does he know that? Does he know yar deep dark secret?"

 _"He was lost, Baric."_ Nothris wiped his tears from his face and stared hopefully at his immobile Apprentice. _"Lost after abandoning the Jedi. I took him in and showed him a path. A path that he chose. I am merely a guide for his footsteps. Now…"_ He felt a lump forming in his throat. _"You've taken all that away from him. From both of us."_

"I didn't take it away," Baric claimed in false virtue. "I merely act t' be an obstacle, a teacher, t' open 'is eyes t' th' truth o' th' Dark Side. That 'e is no Sith no matter 'ow much he tries t' pass himself off as one. 'E has no place in our ranks. That's th' lesson I sought t' teach."

 _"Stop distancing yourself from your guilt!"_ Nothris grated accusingly.

"Oh?" Baric allowed himself a small humorless chuckle. "Like ya've got no guil' o' yar own, Trook? Ya 'aven' told him about th' treasure, 'ave ya? What it truly is? Do ya truly feel 'e's ready t' handle it, once 'e gets his paws on th' object itself?"

 _"He'll be ready…when he deems himself ready."_ Nothris stated with finality. _"When I deem him ready. When the ancient Sith deem him ready."_

"They 'ad better," Baric whispered in a tone somewhat resembling optimism. "Or all 'ope is lost."

The droids approached the mirror and tapped on it, telling Nothris that Tinarandel was slowly showing more signs of consciousness. Nothris lit up and wrapped his cloak around himself before starting for the door into the medbay on the other side of the room.

Baric called out one last time. "'Ow can you be certain, Trook, that 'e'll win? Where is yar certainty that 'e will achieve this vengeance 'e so desires? Th' endgame not even the Jedi can grant 'im? What's th' chances that 'e'll destroy th' Jedi an' th' Mandalorians an' achieve 'is goal, single-pawed?"

Nothris had one hand on the door handle and the other on his lightsaber, taking a moment to find the right words.

 _"He is only a lost soul, Baric. Not a lost cause."_

He waited for Baric to respond with something: a harsh criticism, a logical argument, a wicked jive, a witty remark. When nothing came, Nothris pressed the door handle down and crossed over the threshold.


	6. Alone in the Dark

Nothris stared in shocked disbelief at a group of X-rays and medical charts pasted on the screen of the med unit. For half a minute, he wasn't able to look at his fallen Apprentice hooked into the machine. He only heard and saw one of the medical 2-1B surgical droids explaining the readings in depth in its usual electronic monotonous drone.

" **Cauterized second-degree burns on his shoulders and mild internal bleeding under the blades. Extensive thorough nerve damage in torso and thoracic spine, and blunt trauma in cervical spine and hip joints. Arms and legs are covered in surface burns and scars. Heart rate is extremely abnormal and irregular; but blood pressure is inexplicably stable. In short, Master Nothris, your Apprentice treads the fine line between conscious and comatose."**

 _"And that's supposed to be comforting?"_ Nothris jabbed in anger at the unhelpful stoic Droid. _"Is there no way to save him?"_

Its round photoreceptors blinked yellow and black unsympathetically as it turned to face the Ithorian. **"Master Nothris, all due respect, if I could comprehend the Force, so could I properly answer your question. But I cannot do either. I can only diagnose."** It turned back to the charts and X-rays, and its vocabulator transmitted nothing for several seconds.

" **It's beyond theoretical that we may be looking at forms of both upper body paralysis and skin trauma."**

Nothris' jaws dropped open, and his body shook in incredulous horror. _"I can't believe what I'm hearing."_ He looked back at the surgical assistant droid, glaring furiously. _"If you can't help him, then what kind of Droid are you?!"_

It helplessly shrugged its metal arms and hands tipped with hypodermic injectors. **"My humblest apologies. But only the Dark Side can save him now."**

As it walked over to the med unit on its stabilizing feet, Nothris resisted the heated urge to telekinetically rip every limb off of it. But he composed himself and followed. His Ithorian heart wrenched at the sight of the broken Squirrelan lying on his back, drifting in and out of consciousness and coma. He fought back tears and sat down in a chair.

Outside on the other side of the mirror, he noticed that Baric had left the room. The observation theater had fallen uncomfortably silent, and Nothris quickly turned his eyes away from it, only to fall back on Tinarandel.

 _Wake up, my son. Please wake up._

The 2-1B surgical droid who had explained Tinarandel's wounds to him earlier pressed an activation button on the machine. **"Beginning treatment processes. Master Nothris, I must advise that you leave. We will care for your Apprentice."**

 _"Excuse me?!"_ Nothris loudly objected, instantly standing up to protest. _"I am not leaving his side!"_

It waved over a couple of DD-13 assistants as well as one FX-series assistant, who wheeled over immediately and began activating their modular arms. Nothris clenched his hands into protesting fists and coated the Dark Side around himself.

 _"You idiots! Bolts for brains! You won't put cybernetic implants in him!"_

The DD-13s whirred around to stare at him curiously (if the expressions on their stupid misshapen faces could even be called curiosity). But Nothris paid no mind to them and approached the 2-1Bs, who both raised a hand to stop his approach.

" **Please, Master. Your presence here would only be a hindrance to us. Your taking up space might slow us down. Please leave and let us do our jobs. We will call you if we make any developments."**

Nothris looked about ready to tear the flesh off of every mechanical construct in the room, but again fought the urge and uncurled his hands. He lowered his hand in resignation and nodded hopelessly.

 _"All right,"_ he concurred in a defeatist tone. _"Fine. But please, don't put any cybernetic implants in him. If you do…I'll carve out every last gear inside your metallic apathetic heads. Here are the connection codes to my comlink…"_

Not waiting for another answer, he turned on his heel and left the medbay. He lingered for a short moment in the observation room, trying to gather his thoughts, and eventually left to return to the hallways, his mind fatalistic and his Ithorian heart terrified.

He wore an expression of the purest horror walking down the hallway back towards the Dojo, his mind in a dark whirl and his heart beating rapidly. He channeled the Force into his body to calm the shocked nerves and heartbeat, just in time to see Antellia and her friends hurrying towards him.

"Is he all right?" Antellia frantically asked Nothris. "What happened to him?"

Nothris shook his head forlornly. _"There is nothing we can do. We must leave him to the Droids. The will of the Dark Side is the only determinant to his fate."_

Antellia clapped a speechless paw to her mouth, and moved to lean against the wall, slipping to the floor and breathing slowly.

"So…we can't see him?" asked the red-skinned Twi'lek, her eyes full of concern. "Is he not awake?"

Nothris pursed the lips of his double mouths. _"I'm afraid not, Lun'zanu."_

Another of Antellia's friends, a black-furred yellow-eyed Foxian from Mygeeto, balled his fists and impatiently approached Nothris. "We've gotta see him, Master! Let us through! We're not going anywhere until we get a chance to see him!"

 _"And what would you have me do, Azroel?"_ Nothris questioned the Foxian. _"Stomp back in there in the middle of the operation?! That's the only thing keeping Tinarandel alive! I'm not going to do that, not with his life on the line. All we can do is hope."_

"Hope is not the Sith way!" Antellia cried out from the wall, her face tear-stained and her eyes turning red. "Hope is a Jedi belief, and not a Sith one!"

 _"No! It is not!"_ Nothris shot back. _"But it is my way and my belief, and the Dark Side submits to me! Hope is everything we must cling to now!"_ He looked round at the trio, waiting for an answer of any negative kind.

 _"Now that we have that understood, have you seen Lord Baric?"_

"He returned to the Dojo," Azroel pointed back in the direction before putting his black paws in his pockets.

Nothris nodded and placed his comforting hands on their shoulders, then went over to Antellia and helped her to her feet. In silence, they made their way to the Dojo.

Baric stood in the center of the somewhat darkened and empty arena, the electric barriers shut off and the damaged two still sparking and crackling aimlessly. He turned on the balls of his feet as the doors opened and Nothris entered, Antellia, Lun'zanu, and Azroel behind him.

 _"Before you ask,"_ Nothris raised his hands for the second time to halt Baric's speech. _"No, he is not all right."_

"That's insane!" A voice called out from the stands. Everyone turned to their left to see Quanoe descending the stairs from the spectator seats. "He can't possibly be 'not all right'!" The Zabrak touched down on the cold hard steel floor, his face clearly fearful and his voice diminishing.

"He's…he's not…dead, is he?"

 _"No…."_ Nothris stated bluntly, neither comforting nor pessimistic. He stared at Baric for a tense moment, during which none dared to speak.

 _"Whether he makes it or not, I'm still not forgiving you for what you did to him."_

Baric waved a dismissive paw. "Forgiveness ain't our way, ol' Ithorian. Go ahead, pin th' blame on me, if ya like. It doesn't change anythin' and it doesn't save 'im."

 _"I know it doesn't!"_ Nothris snapped. _"But I'm clinging to whatever hope I can find!"_

Sensing the tension becoming quite heated, Antellia and her friends and Quanoe quietly left the arena. Antellia would go to her dormitory, Lun'zanu and Azroel to the Dining Hall, and Quanoe to the Archives.

Baric and Nothris remained. The Rat attempted to meet Nothris' eyes, but the Ithorian was cluelessly shaking his head.

 _"What do we do now?"_ he wondered.

Baric pulled his lips over his teeth thoughtfully, then opened them up again. "It's me faul', Trook. Again, th' blame is fully mine. I've no leverage o' excuses."

Nothris gritted his double mouths in disgust, his translator bursting with anger. _"You're lucky I don't smite you where you stand, Baric. After all the trust I placed in you to be lenient and patient towards Tinarandel….He only wanted to hone his lightsaber skills, but couldn't because of you and your damned ego! You tortured him! Now look at what position he is in! Do you want to know about his condition? Do you want to know what those Droids told me?!"_

"No, I don' want t' know, Trook!" Baric raised his paws defensively, to stop the Ithorian from going on off on a tangent. "I truly don'. You don' need t' rub in what I did." He unconsciously put his paws into the deep pockets of his robe.

"Then again…I 'ave a feelin' 'e will live. Somethin' in me gut is tellin' me that 'e will survive."

He instantly regretted expressing these inner feelings, when Nothris' lack of reaction implied disagreement.

* * *

Before long, the two Sith sat in the Dining Hall, in silence across from the feasting Lun'zanu and Azroel.

Baric passed a carton of butter to the Foxian and finally spoke up. "There's still a chance. He'll come aroun'. I can feel it in me bones."

 _"Feelings mean nothing devoid of truth and actions to back them up."_ Nothris noted bitterly. _"It's in the mindset of motivation."_

Baric and Lun'zanu hummed in agreement, and Azroel, his mouth full of bread and patting butter off his chin with a napkin, nodded vigorously.

"What will you do now, Master Nothris?" Lun'zanu asked anxiously, a bite of baked potato stuck on a fork halfway to her Twi'lek mouth.

Nothris brushed off Baric offering him a bowl of fresh whole apples and put his hands in his lap. _"The one thing I can do now: pray."_

"Pray?" The three Sith repeated in obvious mutual confusion.

Nothris snorted, granting himself a small bit of amusement at the skepticism of the trio. _"What, you've never prayed to the Ancients before? Do you not know of the stone Effigies that lie underground beneath this very Base, constructed by the Sith sculptors and artists who dwelt here long before any of us were even born, and who specialized in such crafts for a living? Have you not read of any of this in our own Archives? I discovered them myself long ago when I first began to call Taris my home; sometimes I like to retreat there and commune, for guidance and counsel or simply for company. You wouldn't understand, unless you communed with them yourself."_

The others still looked blankly at each other, and Nothris, at the end of his patience, threw his hands up in the air.

 _"I despair greatly at the whole lot of you. If you've no questions, then excuse me."_

He hesitated a moment, staring at the ceramic apple bowl, and finally gave into his growing hunger and snatched a pair, holding one in each of his two mouths as he left the Dining Hall.

He tossed the bare apple cores into a trash basket before boarding a secret elevator, one that led far underground, into Taris' ancient catacombs beneath the base itself. As the box shot downwards at an astonishing speed, the environment around the Ithorian turned darker and darker, going from hard metal and steel to pure solid rock and stone; from gray and silver to brown and black.

Several more minutes passed, during which the box speedily descended further and further down into the Tarisian depths. At last, it slowed down to an ultimate stop, and Nothris breathed properly again. He wrapped his cloak close around himself and exited the box, which shut noiselessly behind him and re-ascended, isolating him in the halls of dark and lifeless stone.

Spying a torch hanging in a sconce on the rock wall to his right, he summoned a small burst of Force Fire in one hand and drew it telekinetically to him with the other. He placed the flame inside the torch, where it blazed brightly and illuminated the long winding corridors before him.

 _Would that it never had to come to this,_ he thought despondently to himself, beginning to navigate the tunnels.

Countless history books in the Archives unanimously agreed that these tunnels dated back at least to the first standard years since the Sith seized the Base once owned by the Republic. A dozen master architects and sculptors, sharing the Sith's respect for the Ancients who came before them, were thus commissioned to construct stone effigies in their likenesses. However, upon completion, there was scarce room to place them in the upper base areas for all to see and behold. The Sith Governor therefore suggested that they be moved to the deep caverns, and ordered special elevators and corridors to be constructed for those who wished to visit the sculptures for communions and meditation.

 _How's that for government?_ Nothris thought in admiration as he stepped down a short flight of stairs, guided by the torch.

Sadly, few Sith these days even knew of what wonders lay down here. They disregarded spirituality in favor of the flesh; trampling things of a spiritual nature and turning their reverences to things of a physical nature instead. It was all deeply vexing and saddening to Nothris.

He touched down and faced a large rectangular door. Twenty feet wide and tall of stone, brass, silver, copper, and gold, it was adorned elaborately in fantastic Sith symbols and letters from Kittât, the alphabet inherited from the Purebloods native to Korriban and Ziost.

 _Only the truly worthy Sith can enter,_ Nothris reminded himself.

He took the flame back from the torch and extinguished it in his fist, tossed the torch aside, and stepped up to the door, raising his palms and pronouncing in a confident voice,

 _ **"Nwûl tash!  
Dzwol shâsotkun!  
Shâsotjontû châtsatul nu tyûk!  
Tyûkjontû châtsatul nu midwan!  
Midwanjontû châtsatul nu asha!  
Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak!  
Wonoksh Qyâsik nun!"**_

 _Qotsisajak. The Sith Code._

Sudden heavy rumbling shook the ground under Nothris' feet, and he wrapped his body in the Force to stabilize it. Sand, gravel, and rocks fell in waves from the top of the door; the Sith symbols and Kittât letters glowed a brilliant crimson-red aura. The door throbbed intensely before splitting in two, a zigzagged crack from top to bottom. The resulting two halves ominously opened inwards to reveal –

 _The Sanctum of the Effigies…_ Nothris marveled in awe and released himself from his Force cocoon.

He summoned the torch back to his hands and relit it. Then, steeling his nerves and letting himself fall into the coldness of the Dark Side, he entered through the double doors.

Immediately, they shut behind him, allowing the torch to brighten a medium-sized circular room. Numerous towering stone statues encircled him, built in the forms and likenesses of the Sith of old, and lit by more torches and flaming oil lamps hanging from the low ceiling. Nothris looked at each of them and noted figures he recognized.

 _Marka Ragnos. Naga Sadow. Exar Kun. Ulic-Qel Droma. Tulak Hord. Freedon Nadd. Sorzus Syn, Baron Dreypa, Xoxaan, and Ajunta Pall –_ and a handful of others whose identities he could not pinpoint.

Regardless, he placed the still burning torch into an empty sconce, approached the center of the room, and examined the figures. The Sith sculptors did their job unfathomably well. Their attention to detail was immeasurable, taking perfect care to replicate the bodies, clothes, armor, and faces of the Ancients right down to the minutest detail.

 _Art in its purest form. Now_ _ **that's**_ _dedication to the craft._

The Architects and all the Sith of Taris apparently believed that the essences and life forces lived within the sculptures, but few evidences existed to either prove or disprove this opinionated fact. Nevertheless, Nothris himself liked to believe it.

He'd taken Tinarandel here once before, a standard year ago when the Squirrelan was still new to his Apprenticeship and to the Dark Side in general. Although intimidated by the shocking resemblances to their namesakes, and by their sheer towering size, Tinarandel nonetheless felt genuinely modest in their presences. He hadn't been since, but Nothris knew his Apprentice had shown naught but the deepest respect, even as inanimate creations.

Sufficiently humbled, Nothris hung his head and slowly knelt down on the floor before Marka Ragnos, Naga Sadow, and Freedon Nadd. He took a few seconds to become composed and mull over his words, and prayed aloud.

 _"Ancients, great dark Sith Lords of the past…It is me, Trook Nothris of Ithor and Taris. I know it's a while since I've been here, and my absence cannot be excused. But you know the circumstances of why I last visited. Given your permission, I venture to tell you of the circumstances of why I visit now. Do you remember my Apprentice, Tinarandel, the Squirrelan of Corellia? I brought him here once, last year, new to me and to the Sith military of Taris. Today, myself and him fought in a duel of lightsabers and of the Force against Lord Baric, in the Dojo of our base. Nothing truly epic, yet otherwise noteworthy. Baric proved himself a formidable and resilient opponent. He easily overpowered both of us. Call that weakness, yet it is true and I respect whatever chastisement you see fit to inflict upon me._

 _Lord Baric dominated my Apprentice and tortured him using a brutal barrage of Force Lightning. I begged for him to stop. He would not until I asked a second time. Now Tinarandel lies on the brink of death. My heart is heavy and my mind is in a state of confusion; so is my spirit burdened by fear and anxiety. Great Lords, I ask of you to examine Tinarandel, and see his weakened condition. Whether by my will or yours, I ask of you to do what is according to your prerogatives concerning him. If he is to live, do it for his sake. Channel the powers of the Dark Side into him that he may be healed of his critical wounds. But if he is to die, take him and spare me the grief and misery. Accept him into your unholy glory. Please, O Lords of the Sith…I ask you to save him. Let Tinarandel live, and nothing more or less."_

He'd never experienced a more uncomfortable deafening silence the moment his prayer finished.

Then, the eyes on the statues of Ragnos, Sadow, and Nadd glowed in unison, a crimson red, the same from the door, brighter than a lightsaber.

He climbed swiftly to his feet. The Effigies of Exar Kun, Ulic Qel-Droma, Tulak Hord, the original Dark Jedi, and all the others also glowed, a terrifying enlightening aura of blood, maroon, scarlet, crimson, and many other shades of red.

Nothris stared at them in breathless bewilderment. But they faded away as soon as they appeared.

Yet again, left alone in the dark.

 _What did that mean? What did they mean?_

He waited in silence, as if expecting it to happen again. Nothing came.

 _"Is this your answer to me? Is this your reply to my prayer?"_

None of them answered him. Strangely enough, he felt oddly satisfied, but also skeptical.

 _"Very well. I understand. I am taking my leave. Let your wills be done. Farewell, O great Dark Lords."_

He bowed and genuflected and left the Sanctum, leaving the torch. He lit Force Fire in both hands and used them to light his way climbing back up. In almost no time at all, he called for the elevator again, sitting down against the wall and tossing the Fireballs idly between his palms. When it finally arrived, he wasted no time stepping into it. The subsequent ten-minute ride back upwards passed like eternity.

His comlink beeped on his utility belt the moment he returned to the Base surface. Remembering that no communications service is available down in the catacombs, he hastened to answer it.

 _"Trook Nothris."_

" **Master Nothris,"** The unmistakable drone of the head 2-1B surgical droid came drawn out through the comlink. **"At last, we've reached you. We've been calling you for the past ten minutes and became worried when you did not respond."**

 _"My apologies, I have been busy."_ Nothris explained sincerely. _Since when did med Droids become capable of worry? "Have you made any developments?"_

" **Developments are an understatement, Master. Tinarandel is awake."**

* * *

Nothris burst headlong into the medbay and pushed his way through the group of Droids, to reveal Tinarandel sitting upright, his paws holding his cauterized shoulder burns and grimacing intensely. His head hung low, lips biting back the severe pain coming from the surface burns and scars on his arms and legs.

Behind the 2-1Bs, Nothris gasped in awe. Tinarandel's ears twitched, and in spite of his excruciating pain, turned to see his Master standing there.

Neither ever saw a brighter wider smile on the other's face.

Nothris shoved the Droids aside and walked up to Tinarandel. Before the Squirrelan could react, his Master embraced him. Tinarandel said nothing and buried his head in the Ithorian's shoulder.

 _"Are you all right?!"_ Nothris asked in concern. _"How are you feeling? Tell me you're all right!"_

"Yes, Master, I'm all right!" Tinarandel said in the most assuring tone he could currently muster. _"Aaagh! Grrr!"_ He pulled away from Nothris and painfully grasped at his shoulders again.

" **Administer painkillers!"** The 2-1Bs went up to Tinarandel and held up his arms. One rubbed an alcohol swab on the Squirrelan's fur and skin, and carefully injected painkiller fluids into his bloodstream. Tinarandel exhaled and relaxed comfortably, feeling his pain slowly ebb and melt away.

 _"Better now?"_ Nothris asked him. When his Apprentice nodded, he turned to the doctors. _"Tell me everything that happened."_

" **We managed to stop the internal bleeding,"** the head 2-1B explained. **"But when we moved to suction up the excess blood, it was gone, almost as though it had been reabsorbed into his bloodstream. His heart rate increased in an instant after that, inexplicably restoring the damaged nerves in his torso and spine. His cervical spine and hip joints are still recovering from the blunt trauma, albeit less painful and more whole. It seems to us they are putting themselves back together. The burns and scars will remain, although we possess effective ointments that can speed up the skin healing process. In addition, his testosterone alone is equally sufficient to fuel the skin to repair itself."**

 _"This…"_ Nothris whispered breathlessly. _"This is nothing short of a miracle. My prayer was heard, and answered."_

"You prayed to the Effigies?" Tinarandel realized, resting his temporarily pain-freearms on the bed of the med unit.

Nothris nodded. _"You remember them. Whom else would I pray to? I lost all hope and turned to my last resort. I never thought they'd listen to me. But they did. Now, my Apprentice, you are alive!"_ He pulled Tinarandel into a second hug, holding him closer and tighter, and relishing in the Squirrelan's lighthearted lively laughter.

" **Master Nothris,"** The first 2-1B politely separated the two, not to their dismay or the diminishment of their happiness. **"He is still in moderate pain. He is not yet fit to leave this bay."**

 _"He'll have to stay overnight?"_ Nothris inquired, suddenly bothered.

" **I'm afraid so, sir. Worry not, we'll provide dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow. We may have to do a couple more X-rays to monitor progress on his spine and hips. But even that remains unlikely. His body is fixing itself faster than we can anticipate. In case anything goes wrong, we must keep him overnight."**

 _"That's…a risky idea."_ Nothris explained honestly. _"We are planning to travel to Korriban tomorrow."_

" **I am going to advise you against such a trip. Your Apprentice is not yet in the proper condition for intense hyperspace travel. Please do not let that become a major trouble of yours, Master Nothris. He is in good hands."**

"You call those metal clamps and lethal pokers good hands?" Tinarandel pointed at their modular limbs completed by hypodermic injectors. "Don't look like them to me. They look more like miniature spears tipped with painkilling poison."

Nothris didn't even bother to tell his Apprentice off for his brutally savage wit and faced the group of mechanical doctors standing in front of him. For the first time in the past hour, he felt assured and at ease.

 _"Please take good care of Tinarandel. I'll be back to check on him in the morning."_

" **Granted this miraculous pace at which he is healing, you may not need to, sir."** The other surgical Droid spoke up. **"Probable he may be discharged from us before breakfast."**

 _"Then that shall be another miracle."_ Nothris smiled fondly at Tinarandel and ruffled his hair. _"Very well, then. I'll see you in the morning, my dear Apprentice."_ He nodded at the Droids. _"I leave him in your hands."_

" **Is there anything you wish to say to him before he goes to sleep?"**

Nothris stopped at the door to the observation theater, and turned over his shoulder to express his final confident declaration.

 _"Prepare yourself, Tinarandel. Prepare physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. For tomorrow…we travel to Korriban."_


	7. The Flight to Korriban

Nothris later received word from the 2-1Bs that Tinarandel had eaten a full dinner and fallen asleep no more than 30 minutes or so ago. At last at peace, the Ithorian himself prepared for bed. In his dormitory, he settled into sleep at ease, lying on his side. His mind strayed off, drifting into strange imaginings both of the long-gone past and the exciting distant future. His eyes flickered and slowly closed.

The peaceful night inside his head wore on in silence for several more hours.

Then, far away in the distance, the stroke of midnight tolled from the clocks of Taris. Something came into Nothris' mind as the last resounding boom faded into nothingness.

 _ **Tell him of me.**_

The voice echoed subtly inside his head; a still small voice. He recognized it in an instant but did not stir in his bed.

The voice spoke again.

 _ **You must tell him of me!**_

It grew more urgent, more desperate, more emphasizing, and more needful almost as if begging and crying out to be heard and understood.

Nothris jolted awake in his bed, hyperventilating. Before even gathering his wits together, he called upon the Dark Side to calm his body.

He sat up gingerly, rubbing at the sides of his hammerhead. Then he dropped his face in his hands, feeling streams of hot tears springing to his eyes.

 _Jwakir…Tinarandel will know of you._

He awoke late the next morning. His eyes widened at the near-noontime sun high in the sky, and a look of realization formed on his face. He practically fell out of bed, rushing to leave for the medbay.

In no more than 15 minutes was he soon sitting in a cable car traveling westward from the Dormitories to the main Base. At the moment of arrival, he nearly shoved his way through the group of his fellow Sith and sprinted off in the direction of the medbay.

He knocked at the door of the operating theater. The voices of the 2-1Bs permitted him to enter.

When he did so, he went up to the mirror and smiled brightly at the sight of Tinarandel (dressed in a turquoise polka-dotted hospital gown) sitting up straight in the med unit. The Squirrelan looked up from stretching his arms and legs and motioned to one of the Droids, which waved at Nothris to join them.

" **Good noon, Master Nothris."** The lead 2-1B hailed the Ithorian. **"We have excellent news for you."**

Nothris sat down in the chair. _"I'm listening."_

It pressed a button on the med unit. The diagrams showed up on the screen. **"Your Apprentice's recovery is nothing short of impressive. His cervical vertebrae and thoracic spine have both completely healed: torso, chest, mid-back, and abdominal muscles are all moving normally. We applied ointments to his burns and scars for his skin to absorb overnight. However, as these wounds are of obvious lightsaber origin, there will still be some major scarring for a while. His heart rate is otherwise normal and blood pressure remains perfectly stable."**

Nothris was smiling brighter and wider than he'd ever since yesterday. _"This is excellent news indeed! So, you're more competent than I thought!"_

The 2-1B didn't even bother responding. Either it couldn't comprehend Nothris' sharp wit, or it simply didn't care, being more focused on its duties and completely missing the snark. Tinarandel chuckled from the med unit and smoothed out the folds of his hospital gown.

Nothris waited until his Apprentice drank the last of his breakfast water, before asking, _"How are you feeling?"_

"Better than I was yesterday," Tinarandel responded with a surprising cheerfulness. "Are we still on for flying to Korriban?"

 _"That depends,"_ Nothris scratched his head and looked at the 2-1Bs for advisement.

" **He is in relative stable condition,"** the second explained. **"We Droids cannot process miracles, especially not those spawned of the Force. But we can assure you that he is adequately fit for prolonged hyperspace travel."**

 _"That is wonderful,"_ Nothris fondly watched Tinarandel put his empty food tray aside on a bedside table and stretch his arms, yawning deeply. _"This is nothing short of miraculous, my Apprentice."_

"I wholeheartedly agree, Master." Tinarandel stated, swinging his legs over the side of the machine.

Nothris stood up and smoothed out his robe. _"I suppose we'd better get you dressed. Do you have your clothes?"_

They delivered his clothes from a closet – earlier that morning dry-cleaned and ironed – and gave them to the Squirrelan. Nothris waited patiently out in the observation theater while his Apprentice changed out of the rather unflattering turquoise polka-dotted hospital gown into his more comfortable scarlet belted Sith armor tunic and tar-black robe. When he returned back inside, Tinarandel was pulling on his white socks and brown shoes.

 _"Does he need any last-minute scans or treatments?"_ He asked the Droids anxiously, not taking his eyes off his Apprentice tying his shoelaces, then slipping his paws into his soft leather fingerless gloves.

" **None that we know of,"** the 2-1Bs expressed. **"He healed at a faster rate than we could calculate. It seems to us that the Dark Side did indeed save him."**

Nothris chuckled and shook his head. _"You have absolutely no idea."_

Tinarandel stood up, flexing his fingers, then his arms, then his legs and feet, feeling the blood circulating freely through them again.

All the med Droids turned and bowed before the Ithorian Sith Lord. **"Your Apprentice is discharged, Master Nothris. We wish you the safest travels to Korriban."**

Both Master and Apprentice thanked them for their diligent care service. When they exited the medbay and went out into the hallway, Nothris drew back the folds of his robe and pulled out his Apprentice's lightsaber.

Tinarandel determinedly took it back and clipped it on his utility belt. The familiar fierce energy returned to his eyes, blazing more vital than ever before. A vigorous fire outlined every crease and line of the Squirrelan's face, and he smiled his trademark fearless smirk. "It's good to be back, Master."

 _"It's good to have you back, Tinarandel. Come, the others will be anxious to hear of and see you."_

They boarded the next cable car to the Atrium, where they were met by Antellia, Lun'zanu, Azroel, Lord Baric, and several other Sith leaving for lunch. Tinarandel and Nothris made their way towards them. But before Tinarandel had a chance to react, Antellia practically threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He stumbled backwards a couple steps, but at least held the Vixen firmly so she would not lose her footing, while enduring the good-natured laughter of the others.

"Antellia!" He slightly choked through the constriction of Antellia's arms moving from around his neck down to his spine, pressing on his lungs. "Please contain yourself!"

Antellia's eyes snapped open, shocked and surprised. Realizing what had been done, she immediately pulled herself off of Tinarandel and stood up straight, apologizing fervently and blushing. Tinarandel merely cleared his throat and brushed himself off.

Antellia smoothed out her sleeveless purple-red robes, doing her best to revert back to her usual dignified self. But the ever perceptive Tinarandel saw through her fragile emotional walls, and decided against commenting on it.

"Let's just pretend that didn't happen," he suggested. Antellia silently agreed.

Lun'zanu excitedly approached him, and both comfortingly grasped each other's paws. Azroel, seemingly on more familiar terms with the Squirrelan, happily bumped fists.

Lord Baric stood a few meters away in the shadows. His Rat eyes narrowed somewhat contemptuously. Tinarandel easily gleaned the flicker of displeasure in his red Taris-native pupils and bravely went up to him. Nothris explained the flight to Korriban to the other three before leading them to out the doors to the landing pads.

"You don't seem glad to see me alive." Tinarandel asserted.

Baric snorted indignantly. "No, I don't." He leaned exasperatedly to one side against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "I thin' ya know why. I'm not impressed about your return from th' dead. You should've fallen into death…an' stayed there!"

Tinarandel shrugged negligently, flawlessly noticing his adversary's attempts to distance himself from his conspicuous culpability, no less effortless than his Master's ability to do the same. "I have no intentions to die or stay dead. Even if death were to claim me, I'd not allow its hold on me for long. That's a problem for you, isn't it?"

Baric growled deep in his throat as he shifted his weight to the other side of the wall. Tinarandel clapped a paw to his mouth to hold back a snicker. "Few 'ave withstood my torture; less 'ave ever survived. What makes ya differen', eh? Some…impossible miracle?"

Tinarandel raised an objecting finger. "Precisely, I daresay. I survived by the will of the Dark Side. The Force saved me. There is no miracle too impossible for the Darkness."

Baric bit his lip till it nearly bled, and his eyes narrowed thinly in further cynicism. "Yar optimism an' faith in th' Dark Side are dangerously misplaced, Squirrelan."

Tinarandel smirked and shrugged again. "Well, teetering on the edge of death certainly forces one to gain some perspective on the preciousness of mortality, doesn't it?" He chuckled mildly at the Sith Lord's absent reaction, and raised his arms high at shoulder level assertively, bathing himself in the empowering aura of the Dark Side.

"You've no idea the wisdom I've learned since my time trapped in my own body and mind. From this moment henceforth, I swear to never become this reckless or weak-willed ever again. I shall learn to strive to only the highest standards of the Sith, to my Master's standards; and most importantly, to my own standards. I'll learn to become stronger and more resistant to your power. Someday, you'll regret your words and everything you've done to me and to my Master. Just wait and see. May the Dark Side be my guide on my path to absolute retribution!"

Baric growled, louder and deeper now, more aggressive and vexed. "I see yar brutal wit survived th' coma. Very well, then!" His patience depleted, he threw his paws up in the air. "Fine! Keep holding yar head up high an' prideful. One day, I'll figure out 'ow t' cut it off!"

Tinarandel planted himself steadfast in the Atrium floor as Baric bent down to his face level. The Rat's eyes were laced with a superficial arrogance, as if having previously discovered some deep forbidden secret.

"So, I've 'eard ye an' Trook plan t' travel t' Korriban. A pathetic worm such as yarself, an underdog such as Trook, an' that ill-educated halfwit ya call Quanoe are no match fer th' power o' th' Dark Side's homeworld. It is th' place where all evil was birthed an' is still born. Can ye withstan' th' incomprehensible magnitude o' such concentrated energy? By the Ancients, I'd love t' see ya try! I'd enjoy th' sight o' yar weakness against a power ya know nothin' about! I'd be content seein' ya remain as th' underdogs ya are!"

"As for Nagrig Deathblade," Baric laughed low in his chest, a sound that vaguely irked the young Dark Jedi he verbally victimized. "Ya are both a Jedi younglin' an' a Sith Initiate compared t' his raw awesome power. He is one o' th' Ancients, wielding th' Dark Side like ya cannot imagine. Nothing more than an insect t' be crushed beneath his heel."

He jumped in shock when flames suddenly sparked in Tinarandel's eyes, fires of a dark courage and rare confidence.

"Finally, Lord Baric." His voice sprang forth growling viciously. "After so many standard years, you and I are at last alike in something. Took long enough, but we found common ground. Better cherish it while you can."

Baric yelped when the Squirrelan grabbed him by the collar of his armor and pulled him in close to savagely hiss in his ears, " _I'll see you in Hell."_

Back near the doors, Nothris and the others nearly collapsed on the floor in fits of laughter. After they recovered themselves, they all exited the Atrium and headed to the landing pads. Tinarandel released Baric, who only froze in genuine terror and inarticulate amazement.

The Squirrelan flipped his middle fingers at the Rat, and did not put them down until he too had disappeared out the doors. Still impotent in gathering his wits, and although disinclined to see whatever was happening next, Baric reluctantly followed.

* * *

 _ **Pegasus Javelin**_ **Landing Pad**

Energized by the afternoon daylight of Taris, Tinarandel, Nothris, Antellia and her friends, and a reluctant Baric all pitched in to load medical and food crates into the cargo hold of the _Pegasus Javelin_. Quanoe had been informed late in the Archives by the other Sith, due to not owning a comlink. He appeared almost instantaneously to help out. Nothris, bothered by the Zabrak's lack of forethought, nonetheless brushed it off and pushed a crate full of bacta capsules and sedatives into his arms.

Quanoe buckled under the strain and staggered to and fro while simultaneously ascending the boarding ramp. At the bottom of the ramp, Tinarandel laughed at the clumsy Zabrak. As he picked up a toolbox and tucked it under his arm, he noticed a group of Sith Apprentices standing back near the Atrium doors. He recognized the "leader" as Fargonath, a large, hulking, intimidating, and black-furred Wolverine, his arms crossed in disgust.

"Well, if'n it 't'ain't Trook Nothris' resurrected protégé!" He spat out in a disapproving growl.

Tinarandel hefted the toolbox under his right arm and fixed the positioning of the various wrenches inside it, not hearing the Wolverine's demeaning jab. "Sorry, does my dark rebirth bother you, Fargonath?"

"Not so much grief as disbelief." This time Fargonath literally spat at Tinarandel's feet. The Squirrelan deftly sidestepped to let the spit fly off the edge of the platform and into the Taris air below them, all without disturbing his toolbox.

"No one endures Lord Baric's Force Lightnin' torture, an' lives t' tell th' tale!" Fargonath continued bitterly. "Ye're just a special case! How'd ye even pull it off! Electrocution at that level would kill a normal beast! Death should've claimed ye righ' then an' there! A unique underdog ye are, Tinarandel; but helluva foolish one, aye!"

"Oh, really?" Tinarandel jabbed back, taking a socket wrench from his box and carefully twirling it between his fingers, not even making eye contact with the toxic Wolverine. "What about that debacle you and Master Harkor got into on Tatooine? When was that, about a standard week ago or something? I heard tell you two were _supposed_ to be investigating an underground black market dealing in Sith space maps. But you got distracted! Refresh my memory!"

Fargonath fumed and flexed his sharp claws, glinting threateningly in the Tarisian sunlight. His fellow Apprentices laughed and jeered at him, increasing his building intolerance for the Squirrelan.

"We…played Dejarik in th' cantina in Mos Eisley. But-but it was Master Harkor's idea, not mine! We assumed it would 'elp our mission, that maybe our opponents would cough up th' location o' th' black market if we beat 'em!"

"Assumed erroneously," Tinarandel pointed out matter-of-factly, still holding the socket wrench. "You both won the game, although your opponents were sore losers. They tried to come after you, to ambush you in the middle of the night. So, you just left Tatooine, is that right? You bribed the gamblers and the planet security?"

"Master Harkor has always been th' expert o' Min' Tricks," Fargonath grumbled angrily at Tinarandel, laced with an underlying admiration for his Rat Master. "He t'ain't no Master for nuthin'."

"You didn't even complete your mission!" Tinarandel callously prodded into Fargonath.

"Stoppit!" The taller and bulkier Fargonath raised his voice to a half-roar, gripping his fists and pushing himself into the smaller Squirrelan's face. "Enough! One more word outta ye an' I'll rip yer arms off! I'll sen' ye back t' the dark coma from whence ye came!"

Tinarandel only stepped backwards casually, swung on his heels, and silently walked away, leaving the blindly aggressive Fargonath dazed and confused, his friends laughing unceasingly.

He returned to the _Javelin_ 's loading ramp to see Quanoe exiting from having packed another bacta crate. The Squirrelan dropped the socket wrench back in the toolbox and nodded stiffly at the Zabrak, who widened his eyes, astounded.

"By my ancestors! You're…you're alive!"

"You talk of it as if it's a grand miracle." Tinarandel stared blankly at Quanoe and fixed his grip on the toolbox. "Then again, I suppose it is."

"Aye!" Quanoe clasped his hands together, truly amazed. "Nothing less than a grand miracle! Surely, your Master agrees? I certainly do!"

Tinarandel narrowed his eyes, sensing a crack in the Zabrak's faux impressed front. "You doubt the honesty of your own words. You're not fooling me. What are you hiding?"

Quanoe gulped and scratched the back of his head nervously, embarrassed at his façade being cracked. "Er…well…"

"Spit it out!" Tinarandel commanded, pushing the toolbox authoritatively into Quanoe's chest.

"All right!" He shook his hands, irritated and submissive. "I had my credits on Lord Baric's victory! There! You informed now?"

Tinarandel took a few seconds to process the dimwitted yet sensible confession, and very nearly dropped the toolbox in his resulting anger. "You idiot! You small-minded self-serving nutcase! You bet on Lord Baric to win the duel against myself and Master Nothris, when clearly, he won by violent and brutal means? He almost outright murdered me, and you're fine with that?"

"What else could I do?" Quanoe shrugged and seated himself on a larger crate of extra mechanical tools. "Besides, doesn't everyone gamble? 500 decicreds ain't too bad of a loss, right?"

Tinarandel grumbled in the bottom of this throat, deeply insulted. "You should've better spent your credits elsewhere. All you really had to do was ask if you wanted to visit the market districts here on Taris. Maybe you could spend those tenth of 50 credits on something you'd actually use. I would've suggested purchasing anything to help you with your research. Instead, you had to put them on the line like some short-sighted gambler! What were you thinking?"

"In hindsight, I don't remember!" Quanoe slammed his fists on the lid of the larger toolbox, leaving a slight unintentional dent on it.

Tinarandel grasped the Zabrak by the collar of his tunic and pulled him into a restrictive chokehold. The Zabrak protested wildly by flailing his arms and legs, but the Squirrelan held him in an iron grip.

"Master Nothris and myself gave you those 50 credits out of the graciousness of our hearts. Nar Shaddaa is a treacherous planet. At any moment, someone might have stolen that money from you. Yet again, consider yourself highly lucky you had our protection. Otherwise, you'd have been robbed, or worse, murdered. Be warned, Zabrak. Someday, your money will turn to blood, and turn against you. Tread lightly when we get to Korriban."

When he heard the Zabrak begin to choke, he released him, but not before whacking him hard with the miniature toolbox. Quanoe rubbed his aching backside and stumbled forwards onto the bigger box, murmuring curses under his breath. Tinarandel did not even bother giving him attention and walked away into the _Javelin_.

He stowed his tools away in a side compartment in the cargo hold, then returned outside to see Nothris standing on the ground with Antellia, Lun'zanu, and Azroel. Tinarandel hopped off the ship and came abreast of his Master.

 _"All finished, my Apprentice?"_

"Yes, I think that's everything." Tinarandel nodded at the Ithorian, and smiled at Antellia and her friends.

 _"Excellent."_ He turned to the three Sith Apprentices standing before him. _"You're not excited to see us go, are you? You are concerned about the health state of my Apprentice."_

Lun'zanu spoke up first. "Tinar, are you sure you're okay? Did the med Droids tell the truth? Is there anything I can do to help? Do you need painkillers?"

Tinarandel didn't hold back his laughter, a grateful reliever from the stress of the past half hour. "Lun, I'm fine. I swear to the Ancient Sith! You're okay, I don't need any help. Please don't stress yourself out about it!"

 _"He is in near-perfect health, Lun."_ Nothris added. _"You needn't worry about anything, my dear."_

Lun'zanu bit her lip, still concerned, but said nothing more on the subject and withdrew.

The skeptical Azroel scratched his scalp. "Why Korriban, of all places? That planet's a desert! How can you withstand that inclement weather? Might it or might it not be detrimental to your health, both you and your Zabrak?"

Tinarandel snorted. "Azzy, you're from Mygeeto." He pointed out forthright. "Harsh weather means nothing to you. If you can endure the blizzard storms of your home planet, then you can endure anything! We are more than capable of taking care of ourselves!"

"Aye, that be true!" Azroel chuckled heartily, smoothing his headfur.

 _"The Force is on our side!"_ Nothris curled his fists bravely and nodded reassuringly at the trio. _"As it is on yours!"_

The trio adamantly agreed.

Antellia went up to Tinarandel and gently held his face in her paws. "Tinar…" She spoke his nickname softly, almost a light affectionate whisper. "Will you please promise me something? Promise me you'll be careful on Korriban. Don't take any unnecessary risks, and don't underestimate the power of the Ancients. Can you promise me you'll come back in one piece, Tinarandel?"

Tinarandel respectfully removed the Vixen's paws from his face and cradled her fingers idly in his palms. "I can make no promises, Ante. Please understand that. I'll say no more on it."

Ante sighed reluctantly. She shyly turned her back and walked off into the distance back towards the Base. Lun'zanu and Azroel exchanged farewells before following.

Nothris placed a proud hand on Tinarandel's shoulder. _"Are you ready, my boy? The time is now. We are going to Korriban!"_

* * *

 **Onboard** _ **Pegasus Javelin**_

The gold-skinned factotum Droid C2-N95 stood at the entrance to the Bridge, the personal steward of the _Javelin_ , at the employ and property of the Sith Lord and Dark Jedi. His photoreceptors lit up at the sight of its returning owners. " **Master Nothris! Apprentice Tinarandel! Welcome back aboard! I have been waiting on the vessel since this morning, anticipating your return!"**

"Hey, SeeToo!" Tinarandel greeted the C2 Droid with a joyful grin. "Good to see you too, buddy!"

" **Tinarandel!"** SeeToo EnNinety-Five meticulously examined the Squirrelan's figure. **"I heard around the Base that you and Master Nothris fought in an epic lightsaber duel, and that you were seriously injured! The other Droids at the Base informed me that you fell into a comatose state. Are you all right? Do you require assistance and comfort? You know I am well-equipped to provide these things for you! It is my primary designation!"**

Tinarandel held the factotum Droid gently in place. "I'm fine, EnNinetyfive. You don't need to do anything. If I start to feel any pain, I'll come straight to you."

Nothris waved to direct his attention. _"You are looking better than ever! It warms my Ithorian heart to see you again! The time has come for us to leave for Korriban. Please fold up the landing gear and the boarding ramp, and prep the ship for departure."_

" **Yes, Master Nothris!"** EnNinetyfive saluted Nothris enthusiastically. **"Right away!"** He immediately entered the Bridge to obey the order.

"He's looking brand-new," Tinarandel observed amazed to Nothris as they followed.

 _"Isn't he?"_ the amused Nothris agreed. _"Before we landed yesterday, I put in a request at the maintenance bay that he be tuned-up and polished. He definitely needs it for how far and long we shall be traveling. No doubt we can always count on our mechanics to do a dedicated job. He does indeed look fantastic!"_

"I…don't remember him being here last time," Quanoe remarked, his forehead furrowing in confusion.

"You weren't paying attention to him, that's why." Tinarandel snapped over his shoulder at the Zabrak. "If you'd spent less time bothering me and more time taking in your surroundings, then you'd have noticed a ton more of what you've been generously given. The least you can do is show some gratitude."

He put his hands on his hips in disbelief, his eyes admiringly scanning every inch of the Corvette starship. "This used to be a Republic vessel. But after the Sith seized Taris and drove out the Republic, Master Nothris had it recommissioned and redesigned for our use. We've kept it in perfect condition ever since then. C2-N95 in particular was created right here on Taris to be our steward. He serves us with unwavering loyalty."

His sight line stopped on the boarding ramp behind them, now raised and folded up. Then he lifted his cynical gaze again to the Zabrak. "We took time out of our busy lives to bring you all the way here from Nar Shaddaa, and you hardly noticed the C2 droid wandering around managing the ship? It's completely due to his genius that we even made it back to Taris. Didn't he greet you the moment you first boarded this ship? He was designed to serve you and tailor to your specific organic needs. You never asked him for a single favor?"

When Quanoe opened his mouth to speak, Tinarandel raised two fingers to telekinetically force his lips shut. "I'll accept no more excuses from you, Zabrak. Do us all a favor and curb your skepticism."

Nothris sat down in a pilot's chair and switched on the navicomputer, beginning to calibrate it for use. _"He got us to Nar Shaddaa, you know. Our return to Taris was only successful with his help. If he helped us find you, he can undoubtedly help us find Korriban. Now, once we leave Taris' atmosphere, make sure you're prepared for yet another trip through hyperspace."_

"Before you do that, give our Droid his credit where it's due." Tinarandel suggested one final time before sitting down at the navicomputer.

" **Please standby,"** EnNinetyfive notified his passengers, falling into the main pilot's seat. **"We are cleared for takeoff."**

The _Javelin_ lifted up from the landing pad and rose smoothly into the air. Nothris and the Droid twiddled the controls and meticulously turned the ship a full 180° until it faced the Taris air traffic.

Nothris' eyes widened, suddenly realizing something. _"Oh, I fear we may have chosen the wrong time to leave Taris. It's the start of the rush hours now. Most of the businesses will be emptying out to head to lunch. I always forget how congested it can get around here. "Hold on!"_ Nothris punched the accelerators and the main thrusters. _"This is going to get a bit bumpy!"_

The _Javelin_ bobbed and weaved, and accelerated and slowed within and without the thick and multi-layered Tarisian air traffic. Multiple times, it was forced to stop abruptly to allow gaggles of air taxis and various other vehicles to pass by from every direction. When doing so, its crew randomly jerked either forwards onto some computer monitor, or backwards to slam into their chairs. This inevitably caused brief physical and mental disorientation. Yet, it granted them much-needed lightheartedness. Their lungs ached and their bodies shook with laughter every single time they collapsed on the floor or onto the consoles. After roughly fifteen whole minutes of dodging rows upon rows of air traffic, they successfully emerged unscathed and much more the wiser.

" **That was just tons of fun, wasn't it?"** the physically unaffected C2-N95 expressed encouragingly. **"I enjoyed myself immensely!"**

 _"I haven't laughed that hard in months!"_ Nothris agreed, picking himself up from falling sideways out of his chair. _"Ah, I needed that."_

Beside the navicomputer, Tinarandel got up carefully, rubbing his lumbar spine but also still chuckling. Quanoe sloppily climbed back up from having been thrown down the short entrance ramp, his head spinning and his legs shaking. But the arduous navigation challenge dampened none of them.

" **Now exiting atmosphere and entering deep space,"** EnNinetyfive notified, restarting the accelerators.

His organic companions breathed a collective sigh of relief when the suffocating shell of Taris disappeared. The blankets of empty peaceful deep space thoroughly enveloped their spacecraft.

 _"It never ceases to be beautiful, does it?"_ Nothris breathlessly whispered through his translator, staring in wonder through the _Javelin_ 's main windshield.

Quanoe and Tinarandel gawked out the side windows at the immeasurable emptiness of it, their faces glowing like children.

" **Our Class 2 hyperdrive is prepped and charged,"** EnNinetyfive told them again. **"I am moving to the bearing of the Hydian Way. Please strap yourselves into the acceleration chairs. We will jump promptly."**

The tunnels of hyperspace coated the _Javelin,_ and the ship jumped effortlessly into the alternate dimension. With the ship stable, SeeToo stood up and moved to the navicomputer. Tinarandel moved aside to let the factotum Droid sit in his place.

" **As we are traversing northeast along the Hydian Way,"** He explained, typing and adjusting the navicomputer controls. **"I am now charting a course to orbit above Junction. From there, we'll make a second jump west into the Gordian Reach towards the Yavin system. Then it's just a straight shot northeast directly to Korriban."**

Nothris switched on a holomap of the Stygian Caldera on the ever-updating interactive Galaxy display. He pointed and traced hyperspace pathways and systems for Tinarandel and Quanoe to follow. _"I am well aware that neither of you know the Stygian Caldera's true nature. This is the heart of Sith space and the core of our great Empire. It is a hyperspatial breakwater, nigh-impossible to navigate without the Force. Being such has protected the Sith Empire from external attacks for centuries. Passage is far easier from the outside in than vice versa. So, coming from the Hydian Way presents an extreme risk, uncountable light-years from the Caldera's borders. We must exercise the utmost caution the exact moment of arrival. One major or minor mistake…spells death for us all. Is that understood?"_

The other two concurred wordlessly. Nothris continued.

 _"Entering the Caldera from the outside has brought a wide diversity of beings into Sith space during our Imperial time: Creatures from the Tapani sector, and the Houks from the Reibrin system. At the end of the Battle of Corbos that ended the Hundred-Year Darkness, the original Dark Jedi landed on Korriban and established dominion over the Sith Purebloods. They birthed the Sith Empire upon the throne world of Ziost. Standard millennia later…we are next."_

" **Master Nothris, if I may interject."** EnNinetyfive spoke out indifferently from the navicomputer. **"I have finished my primary calculations and am now beginning my residual computations. My initial results estimate roughly 2 or so hours from Taris to the edges of the Hydian Way."**

He looked back down at the computer after Nothris nodded in acknowledgement to him. **"Imagine it, to Korriban, of all planets! Oh, this sounds so exhilarating!"**

Nothris' double mouths smiled their fanged grins. _"Tinarandel, remind me to grant him a pay raise when we return to Taris."_

* * *

Now with the _Pegasus Javelin_ nestled safely within hyperspace, Nothris asked the others to meet him in the ship's enormously round Conference Room on the ship's aft end.

 _"Now, my Apprentice,"_ Nothris told Tinarandel in a tone of anticipatory finality, dismissing any inessential preamble, while they took their seats around a display table. _"The moment of truth has arrived. I have kept you in the dark for too long now – no pun intended. After the past couple of days making you wait, I am about to reward your patience. Relish this moment, Tinarandel. I shall reveal all to you."_

He pressed a few buttons on the display table. The pristine image of a glowing pyramid sprang up in the small central holographic array. All three sensed the aura of the Dark Side permeating from the brilliant crimson, obsidian, taupe, and gold amalgams.

Nothris leaned to his right to look at Tinarandel sitting across. _"Do you know…"_ He asked, testing the Squirrelan. _"…what this is?"_

Tinarandel identified the object in less than an instant. "That is a Holocron."

 _"Correct, my Apprentice."_ Nothris nodded, and gestured to Tinarandel to expound further on the subject. _"What is a Holocron and what does it do?"_

Tinarandel moved to the edge of his chair, closer to the mysterious thing. "Holocrons are Force-created devices used for containing information, built by both Jedi and Sith for the purpose of passing on knowledge to future generations. Those from the Sith are typically pyramidal or tetrahedron in shape. They are usable strictly by practitioners of the Dark Side. But they must prove themselves worthy first. The worthiness of the practitioner is determined by the Holocron's spectral Gatekeeper, a form of the Sith Lord's preserved consciousness. The Gatekeeper imparts the information inside the Holocron after the Dark Sider has passed all its tests."

 _"A flawless description, Tinarandel."_ Nothris commended his Apprentice.

Quanoe smiled from ear to ear, equivalently inspired. "I couldn't have described it better myself," he mildly acclaimed as he donned his white glass spectacles.

Tinarandel matched the Zabrak's smile, especially proud of himself.

 _"Concerning the Gatekeeper answering the seeker's questions…"_ Nothris added, his mentor voice unchanging. _"That is true, provided of course, the Sith asks in brutal honesty. The Gatekeeper can – in purely theoretical terms, mark you – perceive weakness in its confronter. If that be true, then they won't hesitate to withdraw whatever is sought."_

Nothris adjusted his pose on his seat before asking Tinarandel again. _"Do you know whose Holocron we seek?"_

Tinarandel nodded, spreading his elbows on the table and meeting the Ithorian's eyes. "I do, Master. We seek the Holocron of Nagrig Deathblade."

A look of grand influence crossed Nothris' hammerhead face. He turned to Quanoe sitting to Tinarandel's right in implicit concern. _"You told him?"_

Quanoe stared down at his feet and shuffled them bashfully. "I thought it best to tell him ahead of time, my Lord, so as to save you a need for many lectures. We already had the books in the Archives. I figured it best to help him along."

Nothris hummed in his twin mouths, contemplating the Zabrak's blunt admission. _"Well, you learned the truth earlier than I anticipated, Tinarandel. Nevertheless, it makes my job much easier and saves us time."_

He tapped a second button on the table. Beside the Holocron popped up a hologram of Nagrig Deathblade himself. He was a burly ebony Rat standing at exactly six feet tall, staring through hollow scarlet red eyes brimming with undiluted malevolence, high cheekbones, a pointed jaw, chin, and nose, and lethal fangs dripping blood. A triple-layered violet and magenta Sith gown draped his muscled body frame, patterned shoulders to ankles in Kittât letters. A necklace of authentic Tuk'ata fangs adorned his turtleneck collar. He wore heavy boots of actual Vornskr fur on his Rat feet and beige fingerless gloves on his clawed paws. Upon his head beneath his tall ears and under unkempt bangs rested a ruby Kyber-bejeweled terracotta circlet.

 _"Nobeast entirely knows where Nagrig Deathblade came from."_ Nothris taught the two, tracing the Rat's figure from head to toe in fascination. _"Doubtful he is even native to Korriban. History constantly conflicts on the truth. The more conservative tomes would claim that he came straight from the Unknown Regions, from that enigmatic astronomical rock called Rakata Prime. Conversely, the liberals tend to argue that he originated somewhere from within the Deep Core, possibly Prakith or Byss. The wilder and more pretentious theories claim theories of his birth right here in the Outer Rim Territories: perhaps Dathomir, or saner less, from our very own Taris? In the end, none of these know the truth. Only Deathblade himself can speak of whence he came. Being dead, incontrovertible he has no real intentions of telling._

 _What we do know is what is gleaned from the few histories that mention him in our very Archives on Taris. He lived standard centuries ago in the times of the Ancients. He has all but faded into obscurity, most probably because of his lack of ability to make any memorable mark on history. Whatever truths remain do hypothesize that he lived contemporary to none other than Marka Ragnos and Naga Sadow themselves; but even that remains unsubstantiated. This makes our quest for searching for his tomb extremely harder. All the so-called facts, legends, rumors and myths point directly to Korriban. We have but now to follow the clues."_

Tinarandel closely scrutinized the malicious Deathblade. "Why would he create a Holocron, Master?"

Nothris sat back in his seat, laughing knowingly in respect for his Apprentice's curiosity. _"Ah, there's the million-credit question, my boy! Why, indeed? For one, Deathblade was known for being…rebellious…even in his time. You know the power called Force Drain? It allows the user to leech the life essence or Force energy of their enemies, using it for their own. In some cases, it can be used to strengthen their connection to the Dark Side, to extend their lifespan, or sometimes both. Well, Deathblade twisted that ability to its highest level. What he created was something utterly…unspeakable. He developed a horrific profane twist, what he personally dubbed 'Force Reaping'."_

"'Force Reaping'?" Tinarandel and Quanoe repeated in simultaneous bewilderment.

Nothris interlaced his hands together, his face grim and his mouths thin flat lines. _"I feel it speaks for itself. It first siphons the life energy of its victim, then rips their soul straight out of their bodies. The mind collapses and the soul ceases to exist. In other words, they are turned into…nothing. He forced total domination onto his victim's minds, causing them to feel every single ounce of pain they have caused others: anger and aggression, depression and anxiety, stress, rage, hatred, fear, grief, confusion, apathy, and so on. In short, every single dark emotion imaginable. This is how he collapsed their minds to the last shreds of their sanity before ripping them apart. He reduced his enemies to literal shells of their former selves. Lifeless, soulless, mindless, emotionless, dead beings."_

The Squirrelan and Zabrak made no response. Tinarandel was staring attentively at him, while Quanoe was looking horrified down at his boots. Nothris took the cue to resume his lesson.

 _"So, the question remains: why create a Holocron? Did he predict his fall into obscurity? He might have wanted to keep his ability of Force Reaping to himself, preventing others from replicating it. Today it has never been replicated. He may have seen the future in some shape or form, predicting that someday, a worthy Dark Jedi or Sith would come searching to learn his abilities. Therefore, he built the Holocron to keep his wisdom safe, to ensure that only the truly dominant earned his worth. It may be the reason why his identity has remained known throughout time. Regardless, everything I have said remains loose speculation. We'll never know the truths. Maybe we aren't meant to know."_

Tinarandel at length mustered the courage to name the incomprehensible power. "Force Reaping…I cannot possibly comprehend something like it, Master."

Nothris pointed fingers from both hands at the holo-displays. _"His Holocron, and the forbidden knowledge contained therein._ _ **That**_ _is Nagrig Deathblade's treasure."_

Tinarandel rotated in his chair to glare at Quanoe. "You knew Nagrig Deathblade. Where he sleeps and what his death left behind. How?"

Quanoe curled his lips, that familiar sneakiness returning to his Zabrak eyes. Disdain and mirth outlined his black facial tattoos. "Must I tell you again? I've been a Sith scholar for many standard years. I've collected every possible available scrap of knowledge that I could get my hands on. Fragments of tablet rubbings and ancient parchment scrolls entered my possession. They whispered to me the unholy name of Nagrig Deathblade; discreetly hinting to me of his great riches. None, however, told of his nature in explicit detail." He gazed amazedly at the Holocron, still spinning 360° degrees at a snail's pace.

"Until now."

Tinarandel folded his arms, disapproving. "How did you even manage to obtain these tablets and scrolls, your collection on Nar Shaddaa?"

"I can answer that, too, though loath to do so." Quanoe shuffled his hands together nervously. "I purchased my Force-forsaken bygones on none other place than the underground black markets of Eriadu." He threw his hands up in the air warily. "There, you satisfied now?"

 _"And although these activities may seem covert, even credit purchases tend to…shall I say, leave traces on the commerce networks."_ Nothris raised his hands and pointed at the Zabrak through the hologram of Deathblade.

"The commerce networks?!" The disbelieving Quanoe jumped to his feet, planting his palms on the holotable. "That's how you found me? That stereotypical medium?"

The guiltless Nothris shrugged. _"How else? I simply saw the credits and I followed them. Credits are indiscriminate, neither good nor evil or neutral. I found you after spending several days combing through the networks. When I finally pinpointed the business dealings on Eriadu, I consulted the other Sith Masters of you. They helped me track your Sith-obsessed mind to no more obvious system than Nar Shaddaa. You, Quanoe, a nomadic collector wandering the Galaxy, running from planet to planet. Why did you do that, I ask? Why hide out in Hutt-controlled space?"_

Quanoe shivered and sighed heavily as he reseated himself. "Fear, Master Nothris. Fear that other Sith enthusiasts will come after me, seeking my hard-earned treasures for their own. Fear that the Sith themselves found me someday to take what is rightfully theirs. Relics lost to legend until now would've been returned to the Sith of Taris. That is why I hid on Nar Shaddaa, so expertly concealed in the Outer Rim. I hoped to blend in as one of them, to take advantage of their sanctuaries to hide myself. Besides, I planned to leave within the next couple of days anyway, to return to Iridonia, before you came along. It seems my latter nightmare has come true."

 _"Fear it shall remain, Quanoe."_ Nothris issued in warning. _"Let it be a motivator for you."_

"So, you hid your secrets from me this entire time?" Tinarandel accused Quanoe. "You are really insane."

Quanoe chuckled dryly, effortlessly, ignorantly. "My secrecy has benefits, Tinarandel."

Tinarandel stared at him for a short moment, narrowing his eyes, then looked back at the holo-display. "So does mine. Matter of fact, allow me to reveal one to you now: I have more to avenge here than solely my siblings. All the Jedi and Republic troopers who lost their lives cry out to me to avenge them. I hear their screams in my head, their pleas for help, their desires for retributive justice. I've listened to every single voice bursting my eardrums and blasting in my skull. My quest for justice is motivated by theirs and fueled by the Dark Side. I will grant peace to the spirits of the fallen on Dxun."

He traced his fingers conscientiously along the shape of the pyramid.

"Deathblade's Holocron is the key to all this. If Deathblade deems me worthy, he shall teach me the Force Reaping. I'll bring Chaos to the Mandalorians."

"Of course you will," Quanoe whispered, no less bullying. "If I don't get to the Holocron first."

Tinarandel met Quanoe's eyes through those ridiculous spectacles, his brown eyes tinted with dark yellow glaring in contempt at the twisted tattoos on the Zabrak's psychotic delusional face.

"We'll see about that."

* * *

The _Javelin_ 's living quarters lie on the opposite end of the Bridge perpendicular to the main flight deck. Tinarandel's bedroom stood at the end of the hall behind an electronic padlock calibrated to recognize only his paw. Behind the automated door was an exact minimalistic replica of his dormitory on the Taris Base: an elongated fifteen-feet horizontal rectangle painted maroon and marble illuminated by warm muted orange fluorescent lights. The long bed protruded vertically from the right divider and faced the hollow ovoid alcove, inside of which stood his secure locker, a dresser, and a simple meditation space. Tinarandel's personal computer monitor was embedded in the wall above the bed, and to the right stood a chic bookshelf.

Tinarandel switched on his computer and accessed its main hard drive. Here he found a vast music collection imported straight from the Base. This diverse compilation included music from Corellia, Taris, and Coruscant, as well as every single cantina jingle from Nar Shaddaa. He'd honestly enjoyed the jazzy poppy tunes there in the Burning Deck, and eventually figured out how to download them onto the hard drive. Nothris, knowing of his Apprentice's passionate love for this multidimensional art form, actually encouraged and supported it. Given the monitor's vast storage space, Tinarandel made sure to include more than plenty of Ithorian music for his Master's occasional enjoyment (playing from the speakers planted throughout the breadth of the ship). Aside from music, Tinarandel also tuned to whatever available podcasts and news networks streamed out from the HoloNet.

He made sure first to set the listening preference to headphone mode. The operatic pristine grandeur of Coruscant symphonies streaming through his cushioned wireless headphones (taken from under his head pillow) motivated him while cleaning the bedroom.

First, he stripped out of his Sith robe and tunic and hung them up on a hook rack, leaving himself standing shirtless on the metal floor wearing a knee-length pair of boxer shorts and underwear. He also exchanged his thick black Sith boots for a simpler pair of gray-white closed-toed leather shoes; and from his dresser slid into a simpler white V-neck undershirt under a simple tan cloth T-shirt and trousers. The sight of the dresser's contents severely disorganized elicited a genuine laugh from him, so he swiftly set to reorganize every article to its own drawer. To finish, he polished the walls of the alcove using disinfectant wipes and a spray bottle of glass cleaner.

He reclined on his bed, his eyes resting nostalgically on a collection of pictures standing in the bookshelf. These paw-drawn pictures featured every single planet Tinarandel had ever visited throughout his life, both during his life as a Jedi and on his various adventures with Nothris: Corellia, his birth planet; Dantooine, the home of the Jedi Academy; Dxun, where was fought one of the final battles of the Mandalorian Wars; Taris, where the Sith Base proudly towered above all; and Nar Shaddaa, where he and Nothris found and interrogated Quanoe in the Burning Deck Cantina, this drawn on the flight back from the planet.

The sole exceptions were Coruscant and Bandomeer. He drew pictures of both using holo-displays as references. There also appeared the neglected desert planet of Tatooine way out in the Arkanis sector of the Outer Rim. Perhaps it existed as a little inside joke to remind him of his fellow Apprentice Fargonath and his Master Harkor, and the complicated trouble they got involved in. The minimal details he'd learned from the other Apprentices never ceased to make him laugh. Tinarandel had also nailed an extensively detailed map of the Hydian Way on the wall above the bookshelf. He'd purchased it himself on Taris roughly a standard month ago.

One picture however, in the center of the shelf, took greater presence than the others: it showed his siblings and himself gathered on Dantooine outside the temple, sitting contently under or in trees in the forest.

Tinarandel lay flat on his back on his bed, his eyeline locking with the tiled ceiling. Inside his headphones, the Coruscant symphony ended its first movement and flowed flawlessly into its second. The orchestra soothed his nerves and quieted his pounding heart as the memories of the Wars flooded his mind, followed by intrusive reflections on Taris.

He pressed his palms to his face and shut his eyes. But the images burned in blinding color in his third eye. His mind compelled total recall. There he lay in bed, powerless to stop the reflections.

He saw the Dojo on Taris, Lord Baric bearing down on him, the Force Lightning shooting from the Rat's fingers and torturing him. He saw the two electrical barriers slashed open, crackling and fizzing out after they'd shocked Baric and sent him flying twenty feet across the room. Then the image of the knocked out Nothris lying at Baric's feet stuffed itself into his eyelids. His furry ears shook on his head, never having quite lost the sounds of roaring Lightning or Baric's sadistic laughter shaking the walls of his brain, thundering louder than every awesome symphony ever performed on Coruscant.

Since then, he'd tried to rid himself of those sounds and sights. But it seemed impossible for him.

The last thing he wanted was to appear weak and foolish in front of Nothris.

His mind wandered back to Dxun, to the day that Meetra Surik informed her command of her orders. Surik trusted strongly in her commander's complex (albeit extremely hazardous) plan, and despite her command being depleted to less than a quarter or so of its full strength, she obeyed them to the letter.

But the greater number of her troops were slain amidst a desperate charge across a minefield cleverly littered in front of a Mandalorian installation.

Only Tinarandel and Surik survived.

The Squirrelan remembered waking up on his stomach in a mess of shrapnel, glass, and other kinds of debris. When he'd gathered his full consciousness, he noticed his lightsaber had dropped from his paw. He had fallen on his left side, facing that half of the minefield, and his lightsaber lay a foot away, caught between a ring of motion sensor bombs. It moved an inch at his summon –

But all that met him was an earsplitting popping and booming. The bombs detonated in the same split second at the movement of the lightsaber.

He could only lie there in helpless shock as lightsaber fragments rained down upon him. A blinding sea-blue flash followed as the Kyber crystal also exploded.

It ended as fast as it began.

He lay there on the jungle ground, his tunic dirt- and grass-stained, his flesh bleeding from chest to toes; robbed of his only Jedi weapon, defenseless, hopeless, and momentarily cut off from the Force.

Death of any kind would then seem like a mercy for him.

Tinarandel wrested himself back to wakefulness in a mild cold sweat and his own labored breathing, laying still upon the bedsheets before wiping the sweat away with a blanket. Any opportunities for further musing on these thoughts cut short by a knock on his door. The Squirrelan sat up on the bed and threw himself back to his feet, first pausing the music, removing his headphones, and then rushing over to electronically unlock the door.

There stood Nothris, looking somewhat somber and anxious.

"Master?" Tinarandel asked, troubled. "Is everything all right?"

A nervous gulp came through the Ithorian's translator. Nothris himself nodded, his twin mouths locked shut. _"I thought you'd be napping. It eases me to see you awake. Are you busy? May I come in?"_

"I'm not busy, Master." Tinarandel stepped aside to allow the Ithorian through. After the door closed behind them, he asked again, "Are you all right?"

Nothris twiddled his long fingers, fighting the urge to meet his Apprentice's eyes. _"There is…something I wish to show you, Tinarandel. What it is, is something dear to me. I hope you won't judge me when you see it."_

"Master," Tinarandel spoke the title with a humble reverence, placing comforting hands on his shoulders. "You know I'd never judge you."

Nothris nodded, knowing his Apprentice always spoke in the sincerest honesty.

He removed a holopad from the folds of his robe and passed it to Tinarandel, who took it curiously. On the screen was a picture of two Ithorians standing side-by-side: the left, undoubtedly Trook Nothris, and the right, a younger male bearing a shocking facial resemblance.

"Who is he, Master?" He asked kindly.

Nothris inhaled through his mouths, then exhaled deeply. His translator fell silent for a few seconds. At length, he spoke up. _"That is my son, Jwakir Nothris."_

Taken slightly aback, Tinarandel glanced at him. "Your son?"

Nothris nodded and pointed at the younger Ithorian standing on the other side. _"Yes, my sole son. Let me see, I believe he was about 12 standard years old when we first took that photo, in Ithorian years, at least. That's right outside our home in Ithor. We'd returned from seeing the sights of the skies and the occasional glimpses of the planet surface. To be clearer, we'd visited here on some lucky time away from Taris."_

"Walking on Ithor's surface is forbidden, isn't it?" Tinarandel mentioned. "Your people hold the ground sacred."

Nothris smiled brightly and clapped his Apprentice on the shoulders. _"You remember from your galactic studies. Yes, surface-level entry is restricted on Ithor, unless one chose to live there permanently. My son and me of course followed those rules fervently. Jwakir was my only child. At 8 standard years of age I discovered his potential in the Force: when he first perceived my thoughts about what to have for dinner on a special night. I hoped to surprise him. But he, as your younger generation says, 'beat me to the punch'._

 _Another time, a few days later, I cleaned out old clutter in our home. I accidentally knocked over a precious family heirloom, and it went falling from the upper stairway."_

Nothris stretched a hand out towards the computer monitor, imitating stopping something in midair. _"He stopped it, just like that! It levitated there, suspended by threads! That day, that moment, I knew of a surety. Jwakir had been touched by the Force!"_

He dropped his hands by his side and looked back at the holopad. _"So, after petitioning the Sith Governor – yes, our very same who now governs our Base on Taris, Darkness bless him."_ He quickly added to clarify when an inquiring expression sketched itself on Tinarandel's face. _"It required much doing and waiting. But the Governor and me made it work in time. I was granted the blessed privilege of training my own son in the ways of the Sith and the Dark Side. A formidable and fast-learning Apprentice, was Jwakir."_

Tinarandel went wide-eyed. His jaw dropped like dead weight. "Then…that means…I'm not your first Apprentice."

 _"Please don't take it the wrong way, Tinarandel."_ Nothris begged. _"But you indeed are not my first. Jwakir is. As a matter of fact,"_ He pointed to the lightsaber hanging on the Squirrelan's trouser belt. _"That saber you wield is the very same one that Jwakir once wielded in battle. I…just could never bring myself to get rid of it."_

"Why should I take it the wrong way?" Tinarandel understood wholly, to Nothris' surprise. "I'm sure he was a diligent and faithful Apprentice."

He traced the structure of the Ithorian home in the photo. "Who was his Mother?"

Nothris scratched his chin thoughtfully, and then the top of his head. _"Khiif Nothris, a fair Ithorian maiden of great intellect and wisdom, the daughter of librarians. I'd tell you more of her, but I'm afraid that is…impossible. Khiif died birthing Jwakir. The duty of parenthood thus fell to me."_

He lowered his hand to holding the other end of pad and stared at Jwakir solemnly. _"I never begrudged Khiif for her weakness. Why, when the child she bore become my greatest treasure? The Force gifted him, as did myself and his Mother. What more had I to ask for?"_

Tinarandel said nothing, and Nothris nervously reached out, gently touching the image of his son's face.

"Master…" Tinarandel hesitated to ask the question in his heart. "What happened to Jwakir?"

Nothris did not move his fingers from his son's face. The voice crackling from the translator sounded grief-stricken, serious, somber. _"The exact same thing as happened to your siblings and your Jedi master: slaughtered by the Mandalorians."_

Tinarandel's heart wrenched and ached at the revelation. He pressed his free paw to his mouth in shock. "I'm sorry, Master." He disclosed through his fingers. "I…I didn't know."

 _"Nor did I of you and your losses, until the day you revealed them to me."_ Nothris' voice dripped sympathetically, fondly, through the translator. _"We both have suffered, have lost and sacrificed. Kindred spirits, you and I, bonded in the Force."_

Nothris buried his hands in the pockets of his robe and fixed his line of sight on the bedroom floor. A minute passed in silence. Then he raised his head again and met the Squirrelan's eyes, equal in empathy and compassion. _"I believe you two would've gotten along great. You remind me of him, you know. Similar temperaments, similar dress choices, even the same preferred fighting style. He wasn't quite as sarcastic as you are, though. What's more, he loved learning the lightsaber and its unlimited combat uses. Now…he is gone."_

Tinarandel concentrated on Jwakir. The young Ithorian held his hands up happily, spreading his fingers and leaning comically to the left side in front of his Father. Nothris – on the holopad – smiled lovingly at Jwakir from the side, his foreground hand on the preteen's shoulders and the background hand on the house door. The Squirrelan also grinned at the cheerful sight. But it quickly slipped into a frown when a new question entered his mind.

"Whom else knows of Jwakir?"

Nothris counted off on his long fingers. _"The Governor, Lord Baric…and now, you."_ He patted his Apprentice's back. _"No one else need know of him. The more the secret is kept, the better it is preserved."_

"The Zabrak?" Tinarandel asked, still of no esteem to say Quanoe's name.

Nothris shook his head. _"By the Great Bafforr Tree, no! What benefits come of that? His parents survived the Wars. He and loss are unacquainted; the same goes for he and the Force. Mark my words: that lack of proper insight is going to be his downfall."_

Tinarandel agreed and looked first from the holopad to Nothris. The Squirrelan locked his eyes into the Ithorian's and boldly declared, "I shall avenge Jwakir."

For a split second, he noticed Nothris' face fill to the brim with hope. _"You…shall? You know, you really don't need to. You're not necessarily obligated to -"_

"Yes," Tinarandel confirmed fearlessly, reassuringly. "As he is your former son, so is he my former brother in the Sith. I shall do whatever is necessary to see his spirit avenged and laid to rest. I'll wield his lightsaber with the utmost pride and anger, and do him the proudest in life and death. I'll hunt down those responsible for his murder and make them suffer. They'll feel our collective pain. I shall make their suffering torturous and unendurable. Deathblade or not, I'll bring the wrath of the Dark Side upon the Mandalorians, as I have the powers of him and all the Ancients on my side. I promise you that, Master."

 _"Tinarandel…"_ A wave of newfound optimism swelled in Nothris' heart, making him barely able to muster words. _"I hold you to your promise. Thank you."_

He'd never seen a braver and more indomitable expression on the Squirrelan's face. Tinarandel returned the holopad to him. He grasped it in both hands, peering longingly at his son. He dare not bring himself to switch off the screen.

When he looked up again, Tinarandel had sat down on the edge of his bed, patient and quiet. Nothris joined him, resting the pad in his lap.

"I am not Jwakir's replacement, Master." Tinarandel explained to him compassionately. "Nor am I his successor. I am his brother. Nothing more or less."

Nothris laid a hand on the back of Tinarandel's head, stroking the fur behind his ears. _"You and Jwakir are my dearest sons. You forever will be. I can ask for nothing greater."_

Tinarandel relaxed to feel the gentle hand stroking his headfur. He cherished the feeling for a couple minutes before reopening his mouth. "I have my own confession to make, Master." He divulged every emotion in his heart and thought in his mind concerning his pseudo-insomniac state.

Nothris hung on every word of his Apprentice's confession. After Tinarandel concluded, he used the next minute to process what the Squirrelan had said. He sighed through his quadruple throats, then took the creature's fuzzy face in his hands. _"Tinarandel, listen to me. What happened in the Dojo is not your fault."_

"Not my fault?" Tinarandel repeated guiltily. "I got reckless, and as a result, almost killed!"

Nothris nodded, knowing full well. _"Overconfident and headstrong. I've seen it before. Not from Jwakir; from other Apprentices. But none of what occurred during our duel in the Dojo is your burden. If the fault lies anywhere, it lies with Baric. He chose to torture you to punish your recklessness. He let his ego command his actions – and in doing so, came so close to murdering you. I fear not to say that much of that fault is also mine. I too trusted excess in my specialty in tactical combat. His strength in the Force has always been sterner than my own. I wasn't able to save you, Tinarandel."_

"That's why you prayed to the Effigies," the Squirrelan realized.

 _"Yes…"_ Nothris whispered reverently. _"I hadn't spoken to them in 4 standard years. Not since the Taris Siege, when my son died."_

Tinarandel raised his eyebrows sensitively. Nothris lightly caressed the sides of his face.

"I understand why you visited the Effigies. You prayed to them because you were terrified to lose me like you lost your son. Again, I promise you, Master. From this moment henceforth, my mistakes in the Dojo shall not be repeated. I assure you of that."

Nothris' mouths smiled in earnest. _"That's my boy."_ His passionate voice spoke out of the translator. _"Come here."_

He cradled the Squirrelan in his arms and pulled him close, who dug his face comfortably into his shoulder. For several minutes, nothing existed but the Sith and the Dark Jedi, the Master and Apprentice, the father and son.

* * *

Another knock at the bedroom door interrupted them. Nothris pulled himself upright. Tinarandel swiftly swung off the bed and answered the door.

"EnNinetyfive!" Tinarandel acknowledged in surprise at the factotum Droid standing in the hallway. "What's going on?"

" **Pardon my intrusion, Tinarandel!"** EnNinetyfive put up his palms apologetically, then gestured in the direction of the Conference Room. **"There is a call for you on the holoterminal, from Taris."**

 _"Go answer it,"_ Nothris suggested, coming up behind. _"It might be your friends."_

" **Promptly!"** added EnNinetyfive, leading the way as his two masters stepped out of the bedroom. **"It would be rude to keep them waiting any longer!"**

Tinarandel locked his room door and then hurried all the way back to the holoterminal. There stood holographic projections of Antellia, Lun'zanu, Azroel, all exclaiming in relief and excitement as Tinarandel approached the enormous communications device. Nothris and the C2 Droid returned to the Bridge.

"Tinar!" Antellia waved at the Squirrelan from the center of the console, her voice electronic like the others. "How's it going?"

Tinarandel chuckled and leaned relaxed to one side. "Great, I guess. The hyperspace travel is smooth. We're on our way to the Gordian Reach. How are you guys doing?"

"I think the better question, how are you doing, Tinar?" Antellia asked sincerely. "How are your wounds? Are you taking care of yourself?"

Tinarandel instinctively rubbed at his shoulders, still feeling the cauterized burns from Baric's lightsaber. He winced slightly at the slightest touches, and knew that his friends easily discerned it. Nevertheless, he mustered on a brave face for the sake of their comfort. "Slow healing, but it's working."

But Antellia wasn't convinced. "What did the med Droids say to Master Nothris about you?"

Tinarandel slightly scowled at her. "That's something he will never tell anyone except for me. I will say nothing of it."

Azroel waved at the Squirrelan to direct his attention. "Hey, want to know something crazy we did an hour ago? So, after you guys left Taris, Lord Baric started talking about wanting to follow you to Korriban. He claimed to have his ship already prepped in the landing bays. But here's the kicker: he even invited us to come with him!"

Tinarandel whistled low. "And?" He asked, now legitimately curious. "How did you guys react?"

A typical Foxian slyness glimmered in Azroel's golden eyes. "As you can guess, I eagerly jumped at his offer. I promised him when we found you guys, and stopped you from finding Deathblade's tomb, that together we would kill you and steal the treasure for ourselves." He grinned mischievously, cunningly, showing his sharp fangs. Standing to his fullest height, he raised a fist in the air haughtily. "That I'd help him achieve the powers of the Ancients, to become the most fearsome Sith Lord in all of Taris! Together, we would rule the entire Taris system, us and him!"

Tinarandel could scarcely hold his laughter now. "I assume this is leading somewhere?"

Azroel wasted no time. "While he was at lunch, we snuck onto the _Stalker's Grip_ , all three of us…." He smacked his fists hard into his open palm. "…and _**WHAM!**_ _ **We sabotaged its engines!**_ "

Tinarandel collapsed on the floor on his side, laughing harder than ever in a long time. His friends too were laughing uproariously and high-fiving each other triumphantly in their nefarious deed. Tinarandel drew on the Force to keep his ribs from aching. Quickly, he recovered and pulled himself back to his feet again, still shaking mirthfully and leaning on the holoterminal.

"Drat!" He chuckled, looking back up at their holographic projections on the monitor. "You actually did that? Has he found out yet?"

Lun'zanu shook her head and wiped tears from her eyes. "You know Lord Baric. He can easily shut anybody up with his Force Lightning. But when it comes to the _Stalker's Grip_ , he's dimwitted towards it, unintelligent. We did it so cleverly and so discreetly, that it'll be quite a while before he finds out!"

Antellia snickered and gazed at Tinarandel fondly. "You should've seen us. A Vixen, a Foxian, and a Twi'lek all sneak into a Star Courier and bust up its engines with their lightsabers! Let's see him try to board a hyperdrive docking ring now!"

Tinarandel nodded his concurrence. "So, I guess we won't have to worry about him following us anymore. We're in the clear. No one to stalk us, not even Lord Baric."

"Except the Jedi," Azroel suddenly blurted out. He gasped and clapped his paws hard to his muzzle, shocked at what he'd just said.

" _ **Azzy!**_ **"** The others harshly reprimanded him.

"I'm sorry!" Azroel strongly apologized through his fingers. "I didn't mean to mention them!"

"You can mention them all you want, Azzy." Antellia counseled the Foxian. "Just don't do it in front of Tinarandel!"

Azroel, properly admonished and humbled, nodded slowly, not making eye contact with anyone.

"I am no Jedi," Tinarandel asserted, putting his paws firmly on his hips. "Nor am I a Sith. Someday I shall become a Sith! I want to dissociate myself from the Jedi permanently until the end of my life. Let me make this clear: the Jedi failed me. That's the gist of it.

You wonder why I abandoned them forever? Because they abandoned me, left me alone in the darkness. They abandoned me when they broke their promise to protect my siblings from the traps left behind on Dxun; when they violated my trust from not allowing me to fight in the Wars growing up. What more can I say to you about it?

I am a Dark Jedi, there is no denying that. But every single day, I work to ultimately shed the 'Jedi' title from it. Someday, some way, I aspire to become a complete full-blooded Sith. No matter what it takes, no matter what sacrifices I must make, no matter what dark deeds I have to perform, my dreams shall become realities. They left me in the darkness, and so darkness I became. The Darkness is my home now. It is my heart, mind, and spirit. I am proud to serve it, and bend it to my will to wreak vengeance on those who deserve it. Both the Jedi and the Mandalorians shall suffer my wrath. That is the last I'll say.

"Never mention the Jedi in front of me ever again, do you guys understand? The Light is dying inside me. Every day I curse it, as I curse the Jedi. I need only take it to its frozen eternal grave in the Dark."

His friends silently agreed, and the Squirrelan pressed an anxious palm to his face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get angry. This is neither the proper time nor the place for it. I honestly don't care who of the Jedi comes after me. They'll suffer torment and torture for their crimes against me all the same."

"You are becoming more and more like a Sith, Tinar." Azroel whispered in awe. Tinarandel nodded in thanks.

"Master Nothris chose the perfect Apprentice," Antellia pointed out. "It seems more and more you are becoming like him. I mean, not like an Ithorian, that's not what I'm saying!" She rapidly added when the Squirrelan again scowled at her. "I mean you are starting to sound like him, to act like him. Heck, you even fight like him sometimes, too."

"As a practitioner of the Way of the Rancor yourself, I thought you of all Creatures would know everything of its components." Tinarandel stated bluntly through lightly gritted teeth. "Without Soresu, Niman wouldn't exist."

"I'm not the one flying to Korriban," Antellia snapped back, her paws on her hips. Tinarandel dared not argue with that sound statement.

"What happens when you become a Sith Lord – er, _if_ you become a Sith Lord?" Lun'zanu asked, walking up to the edge of the holoterminal to stare at Tinarandel, who bit his lips, confused and uncertain.

"I don't know. I can't foresee the future. But I do know this…" He gave them a genuine glowing smile. "You'll always be my friends, no matter what the circumstance of the future may bring. I promise you that, right here, right now. You can rest assured of that."

Azroel and Lun'zanu turned to Antellia, begging for her to utilize her future vision and foresee everyone's perfect hereafters. But the affronted Antellia adamantly scorned the preposterous proposal.

"I do not see upon command! I can't act like that! That isn't how it works! Don't make me do something I'm not able to do as I call upon it!"

Her Foxian and Twi'lek companions pushed harder. But they shut up when she bared her fangs and claws, hissing aggressively. Tinarandel hid his snickering in the collar of his tan silk shirt.

"Don't forget, my friends." He reminded them. "I am the only Dark Jedi. As such, I alone have the powers to forge my own future, to carve my own path in life, and to perform with the Sith as I see fit. I was born to dominate the Galaxy and crush those who oppose me beneath my feet. I am designed to trample over the weak and rank with the strong. I serve the Dark Side and it serves me. Someday…I will become everything I aspire to be. For now, I'll leave it in the hands of the Force."

"May it guide your path to power," the fascinated Antellia whispered, staring absentmindedly at nothing.

"Power is yours," Azroel added, almost as if he could see the Squirrelan's future better than the Vixen.

"Nothing can stop you from becoming what you want to be!" Lun'zanu proclaimed.

"I'll become the greatest Sith Lords that Taris has ever known!" Tinarandel raised his fists majestically in the air. "My name will go down in history, feared and revered in the books of the Sith!"

* * *

After coming down from the adrenaline of this dark declaration, the trio was suddenly called away to help with something from outside. The quartet exchanged their farewells, and the Squirrelan shut off the holoterminal and turned to see SeeToo-EnNinetyfive coming towards him.

" **Apprentice Tinarandel,"** the factotum Droid happily greeted him. **"It is my extreme pleasure to inform you that Master Nothris and Quanoe are starting a game of Sabacc; and requested that I ask if you would be interested in joining."**

Tinarandel grinned and patted the Droid on the shoulder. "How can I refuse Sabacc? I'd love to join. Lead the way."

He followed the Droid to the smaller Crew Room to see Nothris and Quanoe seated at the ovoid dining table repurposed into a makeshift Sabacc tabletop. Nothris looked up as his Apprentice approached them.

 _"Have a seat, my boy!"_ He encouragingly patted the seat to his left. _"We were just getting started. Sabacc Pot and Ante are 50 credits. Please be our Dealer."_

Quanoe fearlessly placed his 500 decicreds into the Pot. "I'll take my chances with these, the same ones you gave me on Nar Shaddaa. I'll definitely get them back anyway."

 _"You keep telling yourself that,"_ Nothris disagreed, giving the Deck to Tinarandel to shuffle.

"50 credits for a friendly game of Sabacc?" the Apprentice joked, shuffling the deck. He too pulled out his credit chips from a purse earlier retrieved from his room before the holoterminal call.

"When it comes to gambling," Quanoe snorted, sorting out his game chips. "It's always every man and beast for himself. There is nothing fair here. We play for ourselves alone."

Tinarandel looked sideways at Nothris, who only nodded stiffly, unwilling to agree.

"Stakes?" he asked.

Nothris shrugged. _"None, my Apprentice, unless you'd like to include some."_

"Just the credits will do, Master." Tinarandel agreed, waving his hand dismissively.

That being settled, the Ithorian put out his hand for the other two to shake.

 _"Shall we get started?"_

Quanoe gladly shook Nothris' hand and then the discernibly reluctant Tinarandel's. "We shall. May the best alien or beast win."

Tinarandel dealt the cards to each player including himself clockwise around the table. Each examined his given hand. Across, Quanoe smirked from ear to ear and tossed out a bet.

"Raise 55, and I'll draw from the Deck." He rolled the dice to end his turn.

Tinarandel waited while Quanoe drew, peered at his own cards for a moment, and threw in his chips as well, before rolling his dice. "I'll call your 55."

Nothris chuckled and shrugged helplessly, throwing his hand out in the center of the table. _"Look at me, I've already bombed out. Positive 25! Tough luck on the first round, eh?"_ Yet he paid the required 55 credits to the Sabacc Pot without reluctance.

Tinarandel snorted amusedly and returned Nothris' cards to the deck. Quanoe nodded and revealed his hand.

"Haha! An Idiot's Array!" He announced, clenching his fists triumphantly. _The scales of the game appear to be tipped heavily in my favor!_

The Sith and Dark Jedi grumbled and laughed at the easy victory, and Tinarandel revealed his measly Positive 20.

"Come on, that was first round beginner's luck!" the Squirrelan jested again.

But Quanoe shook his head defensively, his smirk unwavering. "Luck of the cards, Apprentice. Luck of the cards!" He wrapped his arms around the Main Pot and pulled it greedily to his side.

They raised the Sabacc Pot to 60 credits before Tinarandel dealt the second round. Quanoe waved his hand to "Check". Nothris drew from the Deck and did the same.

Tinarandel drew a card and smiled slyly out of the corner of his mouth, a slyness that only Nothris noticed. He promptly placed it in the Interference Field. Otherwise known as the Disruption Field, in the event of a Sabacc Shift, the card sheltered here would not have its suit and numerical value changed for the new hands, despite the fact that its attributes would be revealed for the others to see.

 _Feels like they're bluffing_ , he thought cautiously to himself. _Better play it safe._

Nothris recognized the tentativeness on his Sith pupil's face, and hid a small secretive smile in his fanged mouths. _You need not worry yourself, my dear boy. You are safe. Quanoe, on the other hand…knows naught what is in store for him…_

He'd set forth the trap in the cards, and presently lay waiting for Quanoe to take the bait.

 _"Before I forget,"_ the Ithorian idly reordered his cards and tapped his Apprentice on the shoulder. _"I'd like to ask: what did you and your friends talk about?"_

Tinarandel traded one of his cards and drew a replacement from the Deck. He crossed his left leg over his right, satisfied. "They told me that after we left, apparently Lord Baric conjured up the idea to follow us to Korriban. I reckon he would try to find Deathblade's Holocron before we did."

 _"Did he now?"_ Nothris snorted and shook his head. _"That is not unlike Baric to do something like that. I assume he attempted to invite your friends to accompany him?"_

"Emphasis on 'attempted', Master." His Apprentice arranged his cards in numerical order and changed his leg positions. "Azroel, cunning fox he is, encouraged Baric." The Squirrelan had to use a minute to compose himself against the overwhelming hilarity arising in him. "He 'promised' Baric that when they found us, they would kill us and steal Deathblade's treasure for themselves."

He raised his free fist high into the air in flawless imitation of the Foxian's haughty pose. "Azroel swore to Baric that he would gain the powers of the Ancients and become the most powerful Sith Lord in all of Taris, enough so to rule the entire system!"

 _"Oh, my,"_ Nothris' mouths grinned. _"That sounds highly ambitious."_

Tinarandel dropped his fist to his mouth to hide his glee. "Then, after Lord Baric went to lunch, Azroel, Antellia, and Lun'zanu snuck onto the _Stalker's Grip_ – you know, his Star Courier, right? And, _**WHAM!**_ " He slammed his fist into his palm, subtly using the Force to keep his cards from falling out of his paw. **"** _ **They sabotaged his engines!**_ **"**

As he expected, Nothris cackled wildly, clapping his hands together and nearly slipping sideways off his chair.

 _"Yes!"_ Nothris temporarily put his cards down on the table and interlaced his fingers together, using the Force to calm his shaking body. _"That is exactly what they would do! Ah, never trust a Foxian and his flattering silver tongue!"_

Tinarandel let his amusement pass and rested his feet on the floor. "Yep, Lord Baric brought that on himself! I suppose we don't need to fret about him trying to come after us now!"

 _"It's not Lord Baric we should concern ourselves with,"_ Nothris admitted, vaguely serious and glancing aside at Quanoe, who'd been busy contemplating his hand to even catch onto their conversation. _"Both alien and beast are the ambitious type."_

"Is ambition not the way of the Sith, Master?" Tinarandel asked.

 _"Well, yes and no."_ Nothris was still staring at Quanoe, as if waiting for him to do something foolish. _"But that depends on the ambition in question. For example, Baric's ambition is to become the most powerful Sith Lord in all of Taris. Quanoe aspires to acquire mass wealth and knowledge, and is willing to invest even in the black markets to obtain both."_ He redirected himself fondly onto his Apprentice, reaching out to stroke his cheek with his long fingers. _"You thirst for vengeance upon the Mandalorians who murdered your family and your fellow Jedi; and you have no fear to tread the paths of the Dark Side. The Light can grant you no such privilege, so that is why you chose the Sith, right?"_

"And you, Master?" Tinarandel whispered, inquiring.

Nothris hid his fangs and smiled. _"My ambition is to guide you on your path to the Dark Side, to help you achieve your vengeance, and to raise you as my dear son, as I raised Jwakir."_

Tinarandel's eyes shone warmly and he felt a fond smile spread across his face. Nothris, full of surprising unSith-like compassion for this Dark Jedi, roughly ruffled his hair.

"Are we good?" Tinarandel asked, relaxing in the back of his chair and fixing his hair. "Reveal!"

Quanoe snapped his hand out. "Negative 19." He placed his hands on the table expectantly.

Nothris followed, turning his cards over one after another. "Positive 21."

Tinarandel exhaled resignedly through his nose and dropped his hand. "Negative 13."

They all laughed aloud in good nature at his falling just short of the goal before turning in their cards.

 _"At least none of us bombed this time, right?"_ Nothris jived as he claimed the pot.

 _Something doesn't feel quite right,_ Tinarandel thought again. _It seems Master Nothris is losing on purpose? Maybe I shuffled the Deck improperly…_

He stared at it between his paws. His mind had blanked like a dark soundless sightless void, the emptiness outside of the Darkness of the Force. _What in the name of Ithor is going on?_

 _"Are you going to deal, Tinarandel?"_ Nothris asked anxiously. _"Is something the matter?"_

The sound of the Ithorian's translator dragged him back to reality. He shook his head roughly. "Yes, Master, I'll deal. I'm fine. Nothing's the matter." He stammered in a sense of manufactured assurance, before raising the Sabacc Pot to 70 and dealing the third round.

"Hope you're both having fun," Quanoe quipped, taking his hand. "I know I am. No matter what the chance of Sabacc has to say, I am the superior player here. Imagine it: me, coming out on top over a pair of Tarisian Sith!" He slammed his hand on the table. "Not even the greatness of the Dark Side can help you defeat me!"

 _"I'd not be so sure of that, Quanoe."_ Nothris verbally lunged, looking gladly at Tinarandel like a father to his son. _"We have played together numerous times, haven't we, Apprentice?"_

Tinarandel nodded as he threw a card down to Trade and drew a replacement from the Deck. "Yes, indeed, Master. Raise 72." He innocently placed a card in the Interference Field. Coincidentally enough, it was the same exact card he'd laid there earlier.

Nothris hummed under his translator. _"If you're going to throw that one away – the one you traded –, then so be it."_

Tinarandel furrowed his brow skeptically. "Why? What's wrong with that, Master?"

 _"Oh, nothing."_ Nothris dismissed with a fabricated tone of innocence, turning away and crossing his hands over each other.

 _Okay, that's weird._ Tinarandel observed as he watched the others call the Raise. _Is the Deck playing me as a favorite now? Or are the scales tipping towards me and Nothris now? I know all of Master Nothris' moves, but this is unorthodox. This isn't like him to play passively._

 _Only one way to find out._

He took the pair of dice and rolled them. They landed on a pair of threes, a perfect six.

He knew exactly what to do.

"Sabacc Shift!" Tinarandel called out at the top of his voice!

"What?!" Quanoe objected, cracking his knuckles to oppose the radical change in gameplay.

 _"That is seriously uncalled for!"_ Nothris faux rebuked Tinarandel, but then stopped and examined the state of the table. _"Then again, its randomness is technically fair. We've got no choice, Quanoe. Let us initiate the Shift."_

Tinarandel held his sides aching with mirth, watching the Ithorian and Zabrak grumpily follow through on the Shift. As Dealer, he gathered the cards, shuffled them into the deck, and redistributed to each the same number of cards. The one he'd left sitting in the Disruption Field was thus unaffected by the Shift, and he took it back to add to his new hand.

 _"Playing with cunning, Tinarandel."_ Nothris complimented him with legitimate admiration. _"You are becoming a smarter Sabacc player, like a true Sith."_

"I'll admit," Quanoe confessed, contemplating his new cards. "That was pretty genius."

Tinarandel nodded thankfully. "Shall we reveal?"

The Sabacc Shift caused the exact results of what he'd hoped for. Quanoe showed a Positive 21 and laid it on the table. Nothris felt no shame in his Negative 19.

Tinarandel studied his hand with the added card from the Disruption Field, and flashed it to the Zabrak, his expression once again blank and unreadable.

"Positive 21 match."

 _"Oho!"_ Nothris was laughing through his translator now, twiddling his fingers excitedly. _"Identical hands! You know what happens now, don't you, Tinarandel?"_

Quanoe rubbed his hands together, his face contorted maliciously. "This is unavoidable, Tinarandel. This be destiny. This is to be a Sudden Demise between the two of us!"

Nothris could not argue and laid back in his chair, content to finally be out of the game. _"Sudden Demise it is. Here, give me the Deck. Prepare yourselves, both of you, for the end of our tournament!"_

He collected all the cards together and closely shuffled the Deck, after which he dealt the Zabrak and the Squirrelan their fifth and final hands, plus the third "Demise" card.

Quanoe already started chortling in less than ten seconds. "Positive 22!" His cards fell flat like dropping a microphone. His malicious mirth increased as he saw Tinarandel hanging his head in shame, his cards facedown, hating to look at them.

 _Perhaps the scales were never in my enemy's favor_ , he assumed. _No doubts about it. The scales have truly tipped towards me. They were on me since the first round ever began._

 _Now the credits, the wealth, the planet of Taris, the legendary dark abilities of the Sith, the Reaping powers of Nagrig Deathblade…are all mine._

"Well?" Quanoe made a sadistic coercing gesture. "Fess up! Admit defeat!"

But the Squirrelan smiled with all his teeth, and looked up at the Zabrak with a victorious fire raging in the browns of his woodlander eyes, revealing his flawless hand with a flick of his wrist.

 **"Pure Sabacc."**

Quanoe felt his legs buckle from underneath him and collapsed backwards on the floor next to his chair. He stuttered and stammered and painfully pulled himself back to his feet.

"P-p-pure Sab-Sabacc?! B-but that-that's completely impossible!" He slapped his hands to his head. "The probabilities of scoring an actual Pure Sabacc are at least – well, I don't know! But I do know that it's exponentially high to one! That can't be real! You must've cheated!"

Nothris leaned over to Tinarandel and examined the cards.

 _"No contesting it._ _ **That**_ _is the_ _ **purest**_ _Pure Sabacc I have ever seen in my entire life!"_

"Does it look like I cheated?" Tinarandel ribbed Quanoe, savagely prodding the cards victoriously into his face.

"Let me see it!" Quanoe seized the cards and looked them over, one by one, then as a whole, growing increasingly angrier and redder in the face with every inspection.

No denial crossed his face. He replaced the cards in the Deck and slouched silently back in his chair, defeated. Tinarandel took the opportunity to collect the Pots for himself.

"Game over."

Quanoe did nothing to argue. Nothris shook Tinarandel's shoulders and patted him on the back proudly, put away the Sabacc Deck, and scanned the hefty pile of credits before them.

 _"777 credits. All yours to spend as you please on whatever you wish. What do you intend to do with them, Tinarandel?"_

Tinarandel hitherto knew precisely what he wanted.

"I want to repaint the _Javelin._ "

Nothris stopped to process the surprising statement. _"That actually sounds reasonable. It's inexpensive. I'd never have thought of that. But if that's what you want, then I can't oppose. Why repaint it, may I ask?"_

Tinarandel shrugged nonchalantly. "Why not? The _Pegasus Javelin_ is our starship. So, we can do whatever we want with it. Yes, the red-white combo is beautiful, easy on the eyes, and simplistic. But I believe we can do something greater with it now as far as a new color palette is concerned. Remember, this _Defender_ -class Corvette doesn't belong to either the Jedi or the Republic anymore. That's something we can both agree on. Now that it belongs to the Sith Empire, I swear to the Ancients that the _Pegasus Javelin_ is in serious need of a makeover."

* * *

Tinarandel allowed the vanity of his Sabacc victory to go to his head. Nothris encouraged him to embrace his pride, ride the satisfaction high of the win, and relish the exhilarating and heavily tense experience of the overall game. Such is the mindset of a Sith. So that's exactly what he did while returning to his bedroom – and remaining simultaneously aware of Quanoe tailing him through the hallway.

"Where I'm going," he warned the Zabrak. "You can't follow."

"I know," Quanoe understood, still angered from his loss. "But I'm going to anyway."

Tinarandel bit his lip, trepidatious about letting him enter the private living space. "Fine, as long as you don't touch anything." He opened the electronic lock and stepped inside, not waiting for his unwanted guest and moving to the other end of the room.

Tinarandel snapped around to hold up a silencing finger at Quanoe, who was staring captivated at his bookshelves. "One word from you, and I _will_ cauterize your esophagus."

Still reeling from the Sabacc loss, Quanoe gulped and maintained his strict silence. He waited until Tinarandel had covered up the shelves with his blanket before pushing himself to speak again.

"You know, if we did play stakes, I would've asked for one thing." He pointed to the sleek gray-black lightsaber on the Squirrelan's belt, anodized and powder-coated with its dark green finish.

Tinarandel instinctively wrapped a paw around the hilt of the lightsaber. "That's neither for bargain nor for gambling. It's a _lightsaber_ , not a blaster rifle!"

Quanoe scoffed and leaned against the wall. "Yeah? Well, what happened to your Jedi one?"

Tinarandel tightened his grip on the Sith saber, almost seeming like he'd unclip from his belt and ignite it. But his resolve cracked somewhat as another memory of the Wars returned yet again.

"I…I lost it. It got blown up in the minefields on Dxun."

"Figures," Quanoe scoffed again and stared desirous at the Sith saber. "Where'd you get that, then? Did you steal it off some dead Sith?"

Tinarandel's eyes narrowed in anger. He lifted an index finger, using the Force to trip Quanoe's feet out from under him. He utilized his Squirrelan speed to cross over to his dresser before the Zabrak even hit the floor.

"You truly know _nothing_ of tragedy, do you?" He turned to see Quanoe standing up. "You know nothing of pain! Your parents survived the Mandalorian Wars, didn't they? What, did they drive the Mandalorians off single-handedly?! Is that where you get your bragging rights?"

When Quanoe didn't respond and joined Tinarandel in the alcove, he continued.

"I warned you back on Taris that those credits would turn against you! As my Master said, credits are indiscriminate, neutral! I did nothing to cause you to lose them! They betrayed you, and now they belong to me and my Master again. 500 decidreds, 50 credits generously paid to you from us on Nar Shaddaa for your scholarly services – now all taken back! You got cocky during that game, reckless and prideful!"

He lunged his fists into the Zabrak's chest. Quanoe bowled over backwards, the wind driven out of him, and staggered backwards onto the footboard of the bed. The vexed Tinarandel was fuming.

" _That's_ why you lost, because you let your ego grow beyond your control! The treachery was right before your eyes, yet you possessed no wits enough to see it! The credits aren't to blame; neither are myself and Master Nothris. The only person you've to blame, Iridonian…is _yourself_!"

Quanoe coughed and heaved, holding his chest. He held onto the bed to push himself back to his feet.

"Hands off my bed." Tinarandel growled. "I said not to touch anything. You put your oily hands on my bed again and I'll Choke you, and you'll be dead long before we reach Korriban."

Quanoe nodded and rested his hands by his sides. Tinarandel slipped on a pair of soft leather fingerless gloves, his eyes still set on his contemptible enemy.

"Remember, everything that's happened thus far is entirely your fault. If you'd only met us halfway on Nar Shaddaa, if you'd just told Master Nothris what he wanted to know right away, he wouldn't have needed my help. Think on that, Iridonian. For your sake, hopefully we can avoid more incidents like that.

"I never want to see you in my room ever again, do you hear me?" He snarled deep in his throat as they exited out of the bedroom into the hallway. As they came through the Conference Room, the Intercom on the wall beeped and flashed. Tinarandel immediately went over to answer it.

" **Tinarandel,"** came EnNinetyfive's voice over the Intercom. **"Please come to the Bridge immediately. We are about to exit hyperspace in orbit over Junction."**

Tinarandel looked over his shoulder at Quanoe and waved at him to hurry.

"If there's anything you want to say, you'd best say it now." Tinarandel recommended as they crossed through the Conference Room.

Quanoe mulled over his words for a long silence. Humbled – to a fault – he swore a solemn vow.

"I promise, Tinarandel, honest-to-goodness. I shall do my best to never make the same mistakes again, for as long as I live."

Sure enough, Tinarandel caught himself actually impressed at Quanoe's veritable honesty. But he dared not let it show on his face.

"Like I said, for your sake, you'd better do your best. I'm holding you to your vow. Should it be broken, well, figure the consequences for yourself."

They saw Nothris and EnNinetyfive already there at the front of the ship. Nothris was examining at the Galaxy Map, while EnNinetyfive sat before the navicomputer.

" **Decelerating and leaving hyperspace in 5…4…3…2…1!"**

The _Javelin_ initiated its rapid sublight deceleration before pushing itself cleanly out of the hyperspace tunnel, quickly replaced by lengthy starlines shortening before being followed by realspace's starfields. Once more, the breathtaking tremendous beauty that were the blankets of empty space surrounded the Corvette.

 _"We've reached the Thesme Sector, at the nexus of the Hydian."_ Nothris explained to Tinarandel and Quanoe, still analyzing the Map. _"So, we have two choices now: we can either jump into the Gordian right away the moment we're out of orbit; or we can travel into the Yavin System and go from there."_ He looked to Tinarandel first. _"What do you suggest, my Apprentice?"_

Torn between two options and an unprecedented third, Tinarandel recognized his own apprehension.

"I'm not quite sure yet, Master." He scratched his chin with his claws and looked over at their factotum Droid. "What's our current fuel capacity?"

 **"Under 55%, sir."** EnNinetyfive acknowledged, standing up from the navicomputer and turning to face the Squirrelan. He counted off a brief list of possible actions on his golden metallic fingers. **"My assumptions are that if we enter the Gordian Reach from Junction and travel that hyperlane towards the Stygian Caldera, there is marginally lower guarantee we will make it to Korriban. Conversely, if we decide to remain in realspace and head towards the Yavin System, our chances of a successful hyperspace jump into the Gordian may be drastically increased. A third and admittedly riskier action would be to bypass Yavin entirely and jump straight towards Sith space. Regardless, all three actions will quickly burn our fuel, and the probability of arriving on Korriban safely still stands as dangerous. But I leave it to you to decide which route seems most advantageous to take. I am merely programmed to obey your orders to the letter."**

"Less than 55% fuel capacity isn't enough to go on," Tinarandel mentioned to Nothris. "Where precisely are we?"

" **Barely in orbit above Feriae Junction,"** EnNinetyfive clarified. **"On the edges inside Republic space."**

Tinarandel pressed a paw to his chin, thinking deeply. He and Nothris locked eyes and both firmly agreed.

"Set the course straight for Korriban."

" **I was hoping you would say that!"** EnNinetyfive pointed supportively at Tinarandel and retook his seat at the navicomputer. **"Setting current course for Korriban. Please standby."**

 _"We've just traveled roughly 4,500 parsecs across the Hydian, my Apprentice,"_ Nothris warned. _"Are you certain traveling through the Gordian Reach, territory such we've never before traveled, to seek the borders of the Stygian Caldera, an uncharted realm of space in and of itself, is a smart idea?"_

The Squirrelan looked the Ithorian squarely in the eyes. "If that's what it takes to find Korriban, Master, then I'm willing to make whatever necessary sacrifices. I want to consider the best possibility. I know what I'm doing. Besides," He smiled and winked knowingly. "It's my ship, too, remember?"

Nothris couldn't help but agree. He stared out through the hull at the black star-dotted emptiness of deep space. Off in the far distance, Feriae Junction emerged from the blackness, a tiny speck of a tradeworld on the borders of the Gordian.

 _"Landing on Junction would be disadvantageous to us now. There's nothing of real use there, material or Force-related or otherwise. So, as Tinarandel suggested, our best bet is indeed to head straight for Korriban. Let's get moving. The sooner we leave, the more time and parsecs we save."_

EnNinetyfive set the coordinates into the beeping and whirring navicomputer. **"Course is set for Korriban,"** he announced and stood back up before walking off the Bridge. **"ETA is 7,500.30 parsecs. The hyperdrive has sufficient power left to attempt another jump."** He reseated himself at the main controls and navigated the ship to the bearing point, well away from Feriae Junction. When the navicomputer confirmed his position, he immediately reactivated the hyperdrive and launched back into the alternate dimension.

Once EnNinetyfive assured them that the _Javelin_ was once more flowing smoothly through hyperspace, the three departed the Bridge together.

Tinarandel retreated inside his bedroom and decided to use the subsequent time to take that nap he'd wanted ever since leaving Taris. Content and still somewhat riding the high of the Sabacc victory, he undressed and settled into his bed, and drifted off within minutes.

The currents of the Force shifted within two hours or son into his REM cycle, becoming misshapen and distorted, almost as if something was passing through it. A cold current ran down his spine, chilling his bones and rattling his muscles. His heart skipped a few beats and his bloodstream slowed temporarily in his veins and arteries.

His eyes fluttered open, blurry for a short few seconds. He was lying on his side, as he always did, a pillow tucked beneath his head and two more beneath his legs under the blanket. But the bed did not concern him. Something had entered his room uninvited, and without even opening the lock.

What he saw when his eyes came into focus nearly made his heart leap out of his furry chest.

Not something. Someone.

A young adult Ithorian, dressed in the traditional garb of his species, standing in the corner of the alcove and leaning casually on his storage locker – and _staring right at him_.

Tinarandel suddenly felt mildly self-conscious, and not in part for being half-dressed in the presence of a stranger (or was it a stranger?). Rather, for being caught asleep and unawares, and completely blank on how this Ithorian even got into his room in the first place.

He sat up in bed, wrapping his blanket around his bare furry torso, and stared at the stranger curiously. Whomever this was, he lacked a translator like Nothris did. Thankfully, Tinarandel knew his Ithorese fluently from his studies of the tongue with Nothris. He checked himself mentally first to ensure he got his mouth properly around the syllables.

"Er… _Hello._ " He never sounded more nervous, yet also secure. _"May I help you?"_

The young adult Ithorian nodded and stood up straight, putting his long-fingered hands together in front of him. _"Tinarandel. We meet at last."_

The realization hit him harder than a ton of bricks. His eyes widened rounder than a moon.

" _Jwakir Nothris."_

Jwakir nodded again and gestured to the Squirrelan, inviting him not to be afraid to join him in the alcove. " _Do not be afraid, Dark Jedi. You and me have much to discuss."_

Tinarandel threw the blankets off his body, threw his legs to the side of the bed and stood up. He grabbed the shirt lying on the floor and quickly donned it, then joined the Ithorian in the alcove after using the Force to cleanly make the bed.

Jwakir looked him over admiringly. _"My Father told me of you, did he not?"_

" _Yes, he did,"_ Tinarandel confirmed without hesitation. _"Did you tell him to? I'm dreaming, aren't I?"_

Jwakir nodded. _"Indeed, I told you to tell him of me. I wanted you to know of me. You deserve a right to know, why my Father does what he does, and why he chose you to be his new Apprentice. Second, you are dreaming. But this is a dream of necessity, not a fantastical conjuration of your mind."_

Tinarandel shook his head in denial. _"I have not yet had the guts to call him my Father as you have, Jwakir. You reserve the privilege, the right to do it because you are his biological son. I am his Apprentice, nothing more."_ He stopped himself for a moment to ruminate over his next words; he took a deep breath before speaking again.

" _I understand if him choosing me as your replacement causes you any jealousy."_

Jwakir shook his hammerhead and waved a hand dismissively. _"Ah, you still have much to learn of the will of the Dark Side of the Force, Tinarandel. Perhaps it designed for you and my Father to meet. He was drawn to you because of your tragedy at the hands of the Mandalorians; you reminded him of me, and he chose you to become his Apprentice at the behest of the Dark Side. How can it cause me any jealousy, when I knew it was destined to happen? Don't the Jedi teach that the Force brings people together for a reason?"_

Tinarandel bit his lip contemptuously at the mention of the Jedi Order that failed him. _"Well, yes – and the Sith believe the same? Why did it design for me and your Father to meet, for him to take me on as his Apprentice? It would've been easier for him to just dwell on his grief, and never decide to pursue another student, for fear of replacing you."_

Jwakir nodded, but Tinarandel noticed subtle smirks spreading across his twin mouths. _"Yes, it would've. But Trook is not like that. He is ambitious, passionate, and determined. You've seen that in the way he duels, the way he speaks, the way he educates you in the ways of the Dark Side and the histories of the Sith. You see it in the way he plays Sabacc – congratulations on that unprecedented win, by the way –, and in the way he stands up to the other Sith on Taris who look down on and degrade him."_

" _And I saw it in the way he went to the Effigies for supplication to save me,"_ Tinarandel whispered, sharing the notion.

Again, Jwakir nodded to concur. _"Yes, and as you know, the last time he prayed to them was after…after I died."_ A wistfulness came over the Ithorian, and he leaned back on the wall behind the locker. _"He dared not risk losing you like he lost me. It would not have done well for him to dwell endlessly on his grief."_

" _No, but perhaps his grief motivated him to seek me out."_ Tinarandel guessed. _"Dwelling on a passion like mourning loss is what motivates the Sith. The anger and the confusion fuel the darkness inside us. They drive our actions and give us the strength to bend the Force to our will."_

Jwakir raised a supportive finger. _"Precisely, Tinarandel. You are correct in all your statements. His fear and his understanding that we'd never meet again, and possibly your constant slandering of the Jedi Order, using your familial losses at the hands of the Mandalorians is what moved him to find you. As per your question to him, the answer is yes: ambition is indeed the way of the Sith."_

Tinarandel crossed his arms, still relatively clueless. _"Begging your pardons, but I fail to see your point, Jwakir. Why did you come here, to see me?"_

Jwakir was silent for a minute. Then he looked Tinarandel in the eyes, determined and approving. _"Because I want my Father to know that he made the right choice."_

As the Ithorian expected, the Squirrelan's cluelessness painted itself across his face. _"Making the right choice how?"_

Jwakir laid a hand on one of the locker compartments, where Tinarandel hid trinkets and souvenirs purchased from his adventures across the Galaxy. _"The right choice in taking you on his student, and as his son. I feel no jealousy or envy towards you, Tinarandel, because you are much like me, as he said. Your temperament is disciplined and sharp, especially for a creature of your kind. I too specialized in Soresu in my lifetime, although your skill far surpasses what I ever achieved. There are great things to admire about you, Tinarandel. You are neither a replacement, nor are you a successor. You are my Father's Apprentice and son."_

Jwakir pushed himself upright, faced Tinarandel square-on and bowed as low as his Ithorian body would allow.

" _I am honored to call you brother in the Sith Order."_

Tinarandel, convinced to an extent, copied the bow. But many questions lingered in his mind, and he knew that Jwakir sensed them.

" _Do you believe I'm worthy of your Father, and of you?"_ He posed as they straightened up.

Jwakir twiddled his fingers and rubbed his curved chin to think. _"I do believe you are worthy. I feel you don't need to ask why. I have watched all your progress ever since you started learning under Trook from the netherworld of the Force. You have come so far since your first days; you have learned much and gained such admirable power in the Force. Your aptitude in the lightsaber is unorthodox, unlike anything ever seen before by the Jedi and Sith. What I think of you, Tinarandel, is something I cannot describe; yet I hold you in high esteem, rest assured. To answer, yes, you are worthy of me and of my Father. The real question is, do you believe you are worthy of yourself?"_

The Squirrelan expected this exact question to arise, and found it a sharp counter to his own humble inquiry. He mulled over his reply in his mind, a few minutes of awkwardly comfortable silence.

" _I…I don't know."_ He replied at length. Even in his head, the anxiety-laced reply sounded utterly stupid.

Jwakir was unfazed, and he carefully raised a hand to lay on Tinarandel's shoulder. _"Then may I give you some advice, that of the true Sith?"_

When he nodded, Jwakir launched straight into his discourse.

" _Never stop seeking power and truth in the Force. Never stop studying the Dark Side and discovering its secrets. Go beyond what the Jedi teach and seek the answers to everything for yourself. Never stop questing after what you seek, this vengeance upon the Mandalorians and the Jedi responsible for your siblings' deaths. Never for a single moment should you ever think yourself of lower esteem than my Father; nor should you think you are less than me because I was his original son and Apprentice. You and me are equals in the Sith, Tinarandel. We are brothers, both in the Sith and in the Nothris family. I am proud to count you among our ranks._

 _Whatever you may believe, whatever stereotypes and insecurities you have about yourself, I want you to continually keep in mind, that nothing is impossible with the power of the Force._

 _Finally, never ever give up searching for Nagrig Deathblade. You'll find him, I promise. You just have to keep looking. Either you'll come to him…or he'll come to you. The puzzle is not yet complete, there is more to it that you've yet to find, pieces missing in the final picture. It is up to you to find them, with the help of my Father. Don't worry about, er, whatever his name is. He won't get in your way. The Darkness shall have its way with him soon enough. The Zabrak is completely unnecessary in this already calculated equation."_

He removed his hand from Tinarandel's shoulder, and stared the Squirrelan hard in the face.

" _Don't let me down. Avenge me as you avenge your siblings. Avenge the casualties of the Mandalorian Wars. Avenge yourself and my Father."_

That natural determination, that blazing fury, that powerful revenge, burned itself across every line of Tinarandel's face. He nodded vigorously at Jwakir. " _I promise, Jwakir. I will avenge you. I won't let you down."_

Jwakir's twin mouths smiled, and his eyes blazed with the incandescent power of the Dark Side. " _I know you won't."_

Tinarandel's ears twitched, detecting sounds in the distance.

The sounds of sirens. The _Javelin_ 's sirens.

Jwakir noticed them as well, and his mouths slipped from smiles into frowns of concern as he stared in the direction of the bedroom door.

" _Something's gone wrong with your ship. You should wake up. Right now."_

* * *

Tinarandel awoke on his side, facing the opposite direction, to the heavy rumbling and violent shaking of the _Pegasus Javelin_. He scrambled to his feet and hopped out of bed. Another unhinged rattle of the ship thrust him forward harder than a Force Push, and he shielded his face from colliding with the bookshelf, which whacked him away onto his tail on the floor. Luckily, the bookshelf remained perfectly intact.

He messily regained his footing and practically slid across the room to his dresser, changing frantically out of his casual clothes and stuffing them into the drawers; then Pulling his Sith uniform over and slipping into it. The _Javelin_ wobbled around him as he stumbled and hopped towards the door, instinctively using the Force to steady himself and check that his lightsaber was properly clipped to his tunic belt.

He was met by a thunderous wall of sound in the hallway. Sirens blared and whined, reporting damage to the ship. Tinarandel stepped out of his bedroom and sealed the door, and skated forward out of the hallway into the Flight Deck. The ship was gradually dipping downwards, as if pulled down by some invisible force, as if it had lost complete control of itself. The Squirrelan swore profanely under his breath as he nearly faceplanted again on the floor.

The voice of Trook Nothris reached his uninjured ears. _"Hold on, I'm coming!"_

Nothris helped his Apprentice to his feet and steadied him, woozy from the fall.

"What's going on?" Tinarandel asked, grasping his Master's shoulders. "What happened?"

 _"Well, I have good news."_ Nothris gulped. _"The good news is, we've successfully reached the Stygian Caldera. We're just barely in orbit above Korriban. Our Droid…has the bad news."_

Master and Apprentice utilized a moderate Force Speed to board the Bridge. Quanoe and EnNinetyfive were already there.

"SeeToo, sitrep!" Tinarandel ordered the Droid.

" **Our fuel capacity has run 0% and the hyperdrive has overloaded! Near-total engine failure! We're flying blind!"** EnNinetyfive frantically pressed buttons on and off, and pulled levers up and down, to no avail. **"Our inevitable crash on the surface of Korriban is imminent!"**

 _Korriban already?_ "When did we pass the Yavin System?" Tinarandel asked, hanging onto the nearest acceleration chair for dear life.

In a fearful tone of damning finality, EnNinetyfive explicated: **"About 3,750.50 parsecs ago!"**

Quanoe had curled his forearms under the navicomputer console, shutting his eyes tightly against the _Javelin_ 's chaotic vertigo. But when it lurched backwards suddenly and curved upwards, its nose facing the atmosphere, his grip slipped from the desk, and he was thrown towards the tail end of the Bridge.

Tinarandel had barely a moment to reach his paws out to try to catch Quanoe with the Force – before the Zabrak collided hard with him.

Both alien and beast flailed unstoppably out of the Flight Deck. Tinarandel pulled his grappling hook from his belt and shot it out. It caught the back railing behind the boarding ramp, and there he and Quanoe hung, literally by the thread of the grappler.

The lights in the holoconference room behind them sparked and flickered before going out entirely. The display tables and chessboard vibrated chaotically before shutting down. Quanoe turned away from the ensuing dark fog that engulfed the room and hung in sheer terror to Tinarandel's ankles.

 _"Are you all right?"_ Nothris called from the Bridge.

"We're fine, Master!" Tinarandel called to him. He knew Quanoe could read his insecurity.

"Don't let go!" He encouraged the Alien. "Hold onto my boots!"

The fearful Quanoe only nodded.

 _"Remember, my Apprentice!"_ Nothris shouted to him. _"Keeping him alive is your responsibility!"_

"Is this seriously a priority conversation right now, Master?!" Tinarandel argued at the top of his lungs.

But whether or not Nothris answered back, he never knew. The _Javelin_ hurled itself backwards a second time, and Tinarandel's grip on the grappling hook loosened. His fingers slipped from the handle, and he could feel Quanoe slip from his ankles onto the toes of his boots.

"Let me go!" He suggested. But from the Apprentice's point of view, it sounded more like an order than a suggestion.

"Are you mad?!" Tinarandel protested. "We're falling at Force knows how many miles per hour, and you want me to let you go?"

"I may not be a Sith," Quanoe reminded him. "But I'm equally as crazy! We're all bound to die anyway, aren't we?"

Tinarandel didn't even feel inclined to dignify that question with a realistic answer. He reached out to adjust his grip on the grappling hook, but his paws had become sweaty and wet the handle.

He closed his eyes and braced himself for the inevitable.

His fingers slipped from the handle. He was free-falling out of the Flight Deck, Quanoe screaming below him.

They collided beside each other in the holoconference room, its broken lights darker than the void of space and its walls harder than rock and stone. Neither had a chance to reorient themselves when another disjointed clattering met their ears.

Tinarandel came to his focus first.

 _The cargo hold!_

The lockers in the cargo hold had been thrown open by the chaos of the ship. From what he saw within the intact lights, toolboxes and their tools, the bacta and other medical crates, and the boxes of frozen rations came falling out of their containers. The boxes themselves rolled on the floor and hurtled ceaselessly into the conference room.

Tinarandel heard Quanoe breathing to his right and curling up in a ball. The Squirrelan reached out his paws to steady the rain of miscellaneous objects to the best of his limited ability.

On the Bridge, Nothris slipped into the seat of the pilot's chair next to EnNinetyfive.

 _"Can you open the escape pod?"_

" **Negative!"** the Droid pounded on the consoles in sheer desperation. **"All the access controls are unresponsive!"**

 _"Keep trying, and don't move! I'll try to level it out!"_

He clambered to his feet and moved to the center of the Bridge just behind the Galaxy Map. Summoning every ounce of the Force inside himself, he raised his palms and spread his fingers in front of the windshield, in an attempt to stabilize the rapidly descending _Javelin_. Before his eyes, the dusty windy atmosphere of Korriban mercilessly engulfed the ship's hammer-shaped form.

Nothris poured all his strength into the ship, tapping into the speed faster than a missile and stripping down the waves of kinetic energy. Through the holo-display of the Galaxy Map, the unavoidable surface of Korriban enveloped the hull of the _Javelin_.

He channeled more and more of the Force into the weight of the ship, focusing now on the speed of its descent – but to little avail.

Was the Force resisting him, disobeying his desire to prevent an unstoppable disaster?

Or perhaps something else worked to bring it to pass?

What impossible power could possibly be dragging the ship down to the unavoidable?

The _Pegasus Javelin_ tipped to the left, then to the right, nosediving then tail-diving.

His effort was pointless, and Nothris knew it.

He shut his eyes and lowered his hands. Three hopeless meaningless words echoed from his translator.

 _ **"Brace for impact!"**_

Tinarandel scarcely heard Nothris' warning over the din of the collapsing cargo hold. He reached out through the thin air to find Quanoe. Fingers met arm and Tinarandel tightly gripped the Zabrak in one paw while continuing his futile attempt to stop the hail of objects falling around and onto them.

A strangled scream issued from his mouth as the end came near.

The last thing he saw was the large rectangular bacta box plunging right above his face –

– before everything went black.

* * *

He awoke to his own irregular palpitations and immobile body. A pile of crates and boxes pinned him to the wall of the unlit holoconference room. His limbs lay absolutely still, unable to move even the slightest centimeter. Above his head he felt the bottom of the bacta box, and streams of blood falling from his hair onto his forehead and down his temples.

Tinarandel mustered every single Force reserve inside himself. With an aggressive scream, he unleashed the Dark Side to hurl the objects off of his body. He coughed and sputtered and spat blood out of his mouth, and the stabbing pains of his bruised limbs forced him to half alertness.

He was lucky to be alive.

To his right, Quanoe shuddered to consciousness. Tinarandel begrudgingly pushed the sweating wounded Zabrak upright into a sitting position before standing up.

"Get up," he managed to harshly whisper through the lightless gloom. "Get up, you Force-forsaken filth!"

He slumped onto what felt like the Dejarik board. Tapping into probably the last of his Force reserves, he bent over and limped through the length of the wide conference room to the back of the boarding ramp. The sirens had stopped, and only the stomping of his boots upon the metal floor and the distant crackling of cracked lights shattered the dead silence.

Through his grogginess, he comprehended the echoing voice of Nothris. _"Come on, my boy, I'm here!"_

Tinarandel dropped onto his knees and then onto his torso. He heard Nothris running to his side and helping him up. The Squirrelan pointed weakly over his shoulder at Quanoe also walking clumsily into the light of the Flight Deck. A damaged and sparking EnNinetyfive rushed over to catch the falling Quanoe into his metal arms.

Nothris pulled Tinarandel's face up to his and held him by the furry cheeks. _"Are you hurt?"_

Tinarandel let his arms fall by his sides and nodded faintly in response. Nothris obliged and lay his Apprentice with his back against the railing. Tinarandel indicated the concentrated pain in his arms and legs, and Nothris forthwith directed his abilities of Dark Healing to soothe the aches. Behind them, EnNinetyfive escorted Quanoe to the medical bay below decks.

"Did we make it, Master?" Tinarandel asked, still dazed by the crash.

Nothris nodded, running his fingers along the Squirrelan's shins and boots. _"Yes, we did, Tinarandel. We made it."_

Tinarandel sighed, reclining against the railing. Nothris telekinetically unlatched the grappling hook and dropped it into his Apprentice's paw, who closed his fingers securely over it.

 _"How do you feel now?"_ the Ithorian asked.

"Better…" Tinarandel groaned. He recognized his energy returning to every nerve in his body and the last of his pain ebbing away into nothingness. Nothris let the last streams of his Healing soothe the phantom pain in the Squirrelan's right leg, then attentively carried him to the Bridge.

 _"Look, my boy. There it is."_

Tinarandel lifted his head up to look out the hull. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped hard at the ghastly sight.

"Is that…?"

 _"Yes. Welcome to Korriban, the homeworld of the Sith Purebloods…and the birth world of the Dark Side."_


	8. Home Bitter Home

**Corellia, Coronet City**

Coronet City is known as the "Jewel of Corellia", the planet's most extravagant metropolis on the southern continent, a flourishing capital in technologically superior architecture. Coronet stood as a resplendent testament that Corellia trained some of the shrewdest pilots known to the Core Worlds, and the most fuel-efficient hyperspace vessels ever seen in the entire Galaxy.

The Jedi had left the Spaceport behind with nothing but their robes and tunics, lightsabers, comlinks, and other necessary utilities. They immediately climbed into a four-seater M-68 landspeeder taxi.

Now, the bored Divan Tonaka leaned over the side of the taxi, one arm laid over the armrest and fingers tapping impatiently. While he felt relieved to be back on solid ground after spending an uneasy and restless 14 hours onboard the _Ixion_ in hyperspace, he did want to rush into the City and begin the search for Tinarandel. He hardly missed the _Ixion_ and prayed to the Force that he'd never need it again. _At least the food was excellent_ , he freely admitted to himself.

Larina Skyleaf sat between Divan and Cristo Larring, her paws contently in her lap and patient through the 15-minute drive. Beneath her tunic, the silver Kyber crystal necklace rested below her collarbone, the chain hidden well by the high soft cloth collar and her thick Jedi robes. The crystal itself pulsed warmly, but never brightly enough to be noticeable. Around her right shoulder hung her messenger bag, resting on her right hip. She remained fully alert, not wanting to miss a single sight along the roads, and taking in every detail of the City with wide-eyed impressionable fascination.

Cristo Larring was completely bewildered. Corellia was irrationally industrialized and excessively technological to him, more than he originally anticipated, the farthest possible cry from the green lush and peacefully serene forests and jungles of Dantooine. The heavy smoke and innominate smells from the negligent machines and filthy factories fused into a toxic miasma that forced Larring to scrunch up his face and hide his utterly disoriented muzzle behind his robe. He looked over at Divan and Larina, barely affected, much to his own dismay. They didn't these mind-boggling mixtures of smells, he assumed. But he never felt more claustrophobic than within this puzzlingly chaotic riddle that was Coronet City.

After several minutes, he grew tolerant enough to uncover his muzzle and inquire to the others, "Well, you two, I'd like to know. What did you think of the _Ixion_?"

Larina smiled brightly at the Badger while smoothing out creases in her tunic. "I thoroughly enjoyed it myself. I loved the passenger cabins; cozy and homely they were. I feel the _Ixion_ has more than earned its reputation as one of the fastest along the Corellian Run. Perhaps that's why the time flowed by so fast. It didn't really feel like 14 hours to me."

She giggled innocently and rested comfortably in her seat in the landspeeder. "I guess that defiance of time is the beauty of hyperspace on display!"

Larring concurred and pressed his paw lightly to his nostrils, still repulsed by the unbearable fumes tainting the air currents around him. "I for one thought the food needed some improvement. Other than that, I enjoyed the camaraderie from our fellow Creature and Alien passengers. They recognized that we were Jedi, and treated us with nothing less than the utmost respect. It still surprises me to see how courteous, generous, and humble they acted towards us. What a wonderful time we shared with them onboard the best ship in the Core Worlds – in my own modest humble opinion, at the very least." He held up a palm defensively to the others' clearly divisive looks. "I am well aware that opinions differ across the Galaxy. Don't judge me for mine."

Divan half-shrugged and fidgeted with his seatbelt. "All things considered, I'll admit. I'm…back and forth about it. I loved the cabins as well, don't get me wrong; the red and white was a genius combination, the benevolent type to relax serenely in." He scratched his head indecisively. "I don't have the brightest idea, honestly. It's an average ship. That's my belief." He ended with a noncommittal shrug to the others, not even bothering to defend himself. "Not good, not bad…just average. That's what I think, all right? Hey, I thought the food was perfect, Master!"

Larring chuckled at Divan, reaching over behind Larina to ruffle the male Squirrelan's hair. "I'd not get too set in stone with your judgement, if I were you, Div. After we leave Corellia, we may have to fly it once again. Remember, it's our only fastest way back to Coruscant, and then another vessel to Dantooine. I hate to be the bearer of letdowns, but that's the hard truth, Divan. Who knows?" The Badger smirked and winked teasingly. "You may not miss it, but perhaps it misses you?"

"Killjoy," Divan grumbled, folding his arms irritably and slumping in his seat. The others, including the landspeeder driver, a Mouse, all laughed heartily.

The Mouse pointed at the holographic map attached to the dashboard of his landspeeder. "Since you're Jedi, I'd suggest you check out CorSec. They may be able to help you with whatever business you have on Corellia."

"Corellian Security," Larina made clear to Larring. "They're the planetary law enforcement."

The Mouse nodded. "Yep! They've definitely helped me out a couple sticky situations. I'm sure they won't let you down either. We're almost there."

"The Force has spoken to us," Divan noted. "I can hear it still. It says we will find our answers at CorSec, that going there is the best course of action."

The Mouse nodded, understanding. "Hey, if that's what the Force says, then you oughta listen to it, right? Hold on tight, just a couple more turns!"

The landspeeder eventually came to a complete stop at the corner of the Plaza. The Mouse waited for the Jedi to exit his vehicle and accepted the 20-credit transport fee from Divan.

"Enjoy your day, and good luck." He tipped the brim of his denim cap and sped off.

One CorSec Plaza is an autonomous self-sufficient organization and strict security league of its own, one of the most highly respected across the entire Run. With the aforementioned consciousness in mind, the Jedi had little purpose to doubt that they would find the information they needed at CorSec.

If it was there at all.

Corellia's swift and heavy afternoon winds relentlessly buffeted the trio of Jedi, forcing them to wrap their billowing robes tighter around themselves to keep from blowing away. They located the CorSec Headquarters at Axial Park with the aid of knowledgeable passersby and one conveniently placed street sign.

They entered inside after being scanned by headquarters security, walking the length of the decorated main lobby adorned by young pine trees in stone planters, royal military banners, and towering golden sentinel warrior statues at the very end of the pathway.

"May I 'elp ya, Jedi?"

They turned from admiring the blooming pine trees and shining statues to see a short pudgy brown-furred Dormouse coming towards them, dressed in a suit of yellow-white CorSec armor embroidered with colorful badges and medals. He courteously stood his distance and nodded his head formally.

"I am Tristanas, Director o' Corellian Security. 'Eard ya come in, I did, Jedi. May I 'elp ya?"

Larring cleared his throat and folded his paws within the sleeves of his robe. "Yes, Director. I am Jedi Master Cristo Larring, and these are my companions, Knights Divan Tonaka and Larina Skyleaf."

Divan and Larina wordlessly bowed their heads in turn as Larring introduced them.

"We are searching for a fellow member of our Order from Dantooine," Larring explained. "He goes by the name of Tinarandel, a Squirrelan."

Tristanas lifted his furry Dormouse tail to stroke his chin thoughtfully, mentally inspecting the taller Divan and Larina. Barely an inch and a half below the hulking Badger's shoulder, he gawked at the Jedi Master quizzically. "Why precisely d'ye search fer…Tinarandel? If'n it be a matter o' global security, then ya did th' righ' thin' t' come t' us first."

Larring shook his head reassuringly. "This is no matter of world security, Director Tristanas. We assure you. Tinarandel is a Corellian native, so we without a doubt assumed he might have returned to his homeworld for his own personal reasons."

Tristanas' blankness noticeably did not budge. He shook his head in confusion as his tail flopped to the floor. "Pardon me askin', but whom or wot exactly does yar matter concern? Are ya suspicious o' Tinarandel? Do ya 'ave probable cause t' suspect 'e may be involved in some form o' illegal activity?"

"Does joining the Sith count?" Larina interjected before the others could stop her.

Tristanas furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry, th' who now?"

"Never mind." Larina looked down at her feet in embarrassment.

Now Divan shook his head. "No, again, nothing of the sort, Director. Tinarandel departed from the Jedi Order sometime following a personal tragedy he endured towards the end the Mandalorian Wars. We theorize that he visited his homeworld shortly after leaving Dantooine."

Tristanas bit his lip reluctantly, a negativity abruptly coloring his face. He shifted his weight from one armored boot to the other, tapping his toes on the thick marble floor of the Headquarters, and scratched his chin self-consciously with his fingerless gloves.

"I must make my own personal request, now, Jedi. I request ya not misunderstand what I'm about t' tell ya. There's no polite way fer me to say it, so 'ere goes…"

He righted his feet, inhaled, then exhaled heavily.

"Tinarandel _was_ 'ere on Corellia. I'm sorry t' say 'e didn't stay lon'. T' speak th' truth…ya're a standard year late."

" _What?!"_ Divan and Larina protested in shock and disbelief.

Larring grasped them by their shoulders. "Peace, young ones. Let him explain."

Tristanas nodded to affirm his statements. "Aye, ya're one standard year late. Tinarandel is long gone." He pointed to a semicircle of chairs sitting in front of the wall to the right. "Please sit down over there, and I'll tell ya all."

The Jedi seated themselves in the soft leather straight-backed chairs with their backs to the wall, in patient engaged silence. They waited while Tristanas did the same in the chair parallel to them, and remained quiet to show their interest in what he would say.

The Director laid his paws in his lap, closing them into fists over his knees and biting his lip, as if hiding something, some deep secret that he'd been protecting for the past year, but was now fearlessly prepared to reveal. He took the quietude to inhale and exhale again, before staring them tentatively in the eyes.

"Tinarandel did come t' Corellia, an' visited CorSec. 'E made a most peculiar request o' us: wanted us t' fin' 'is birth 'ome, an' that o' 'is siblings. Only problem was, we 'ad little information t' go on, names an' no more. Fortunately, an' perhaps by sheer luck, we managed t' use th' names t' locate their birth 'ome, an' their last livin' biological relations."

He paused tensely for a quick moment.

"Tinarandel never told us why 'is siblings were not accompanyin' 'im t' speak for themselves, an' what 'ad 'appened t' them. Matter o' fact, 'e convinced us not even t' ask."

The Jedi stare puzzled at each other, but did not otherwise react.

Tristanas took his cue to continue. "We spent no less than 15 minutes t' fin' all th' information Tinarandel required. We located Tinarandel's birth 'ome in th' Blue Sector, in Treasure Ship Row -."

He suddenly gasped and squeaked heavily, clapping a paw to his mouth in shock as all coloration drained from his face, from the top of his brow down to below his neck.

"Oh, dear…oh, dear, dear, dear… _Oh, goodness dear!_ "

Larring reached out his paws in concern, careful not to lay his paws on the shaking mouse. "What is wrong, Director? Are you all right?"

Tristanas slumped low in his chair and clapped his paws to his forehead. "Tinarandel tol' me never t' tell a single soul where it was; where 'e went or what 'e did! Now I've ruined everythin'! I've broken 'is trust!" He shook his head in dismay, cursing with reckless abandon under his breath.

Larring reached out and laid his paws on the Dormouse' shoulders. "It's all right, Director. We do not judge you. Take a deep breath and focus your mind. Please continue when you are ready. We must know the rest of what happened."

Tristanas pushed himself upright in his chair and breathed deeply several times. After several seconds, he was able to clear his mind and refocused his mental energies. He reopened his eyes and locked his eyes back with the Jedi's.

"Thank ya, Master Larrin'. Ya Jedi always know 'ow t' alleviate any situation."

Larring only nodded and smiled modestly. Tristanas nodded back and launched instantly back into his tale.

"So, we questioned Tinarandel about his exact business wit' 'is ol' family 'ome. But 'e refused t' say. What strikes my inquiry is why 'e wanted t' find 'is birt' parents? Why did 'e an' 'is siblings never know them in th' first place?"

Larring raised an emphasizing finger. "The Jedi take Force-Sensitive children away from their families to prevent them from forming attachments. Such uninhibited emotions can inevitably lead to the Dark Side if not controlled properly."

On his left, Larina shuddered in her seat unnoticed.

Tristanas glared angrily at Larring, his eyes shifting left to right from Divan and Larina, and to Larring in the center. "A most controversial an' debilitatin' practice, Master Larrin', rooted in excuses an' fallacies. Yet, I won't compel ye t' argue th' point."

"Th' truth is, we never did truly fin' 'em. Leastways…" He scratched his nape fretfully. "We did not fin' 'em alive."

A unison frightful gasp came from the stricken Jedi. When Tristanas took a gander at them, Larring looked pale and Divan was furrowing his brow in sheer confusion mixed with speechless sadness, while Larina gasped in horror.

Tristanas hurried to explain. "It turns out that th' couple had been murdered by th' Blue Sector's swoop gangs th' very day prior t' Tinarandel's return."

"But, why?" Larring mustered the courage to ask first, cordially butting in. "Gamblin' debts? Raw product deal? An unfortunate random run-in, wrong place at the wrong time? Who would do something like that, and why?"

Tristanas shrugged. "Beats me. But Tinarandel did not take th' news well, I reckon. 'E didn't throw a fit or anythin', but 'e did clearly get 'eartbroken over it. Th' last of 'is blood kin, gone t' th' grave."

Divan nodded. "His siblings suffered the same fates, Director. They were killed in the Battle of Dxun against the Mandalorians."

Now it was Tristanas' turn to gasp, his breath catching short like a lump of air in his throat. He clenched his jaw and shook his head. "Were they? I cannot believe it. I shan't believe it. Then Tinarandel truly is alone. I feel greater sorrow towards 'im now. Thankee, Knight Divan, for tellin' me what 'e did not."

Divan only nonverbally consented his agreement. Tristanas quickly gathered his thoughts before continuing.

"We contacted the property management at Treasure Ship Row, an' received permission t' pass th' apartment property down t' Tinarandel, th' last survivin' family member. 'E was grateful fer that at least; it seemed to lessen his heartbreak t' an extent."

Tristanas squeezed his temples beneath the crooks of his wrists. "I'm sorry, Jedi, that I cannot say more. Tinarandel flew under th' radar after that. Off th' grid, so t' speak. What I do know is that 'e stayed in th' Blue Sector an' rarely ventured out o' it. For an entire standard year, we couldn't track 'is activities.

"Then, at th' end o' th' year…Tinarandel disappeared. Up an' went like a shadow an' vanished off th' face o' Corellia. 'Ow 'e did it, an' where 'e vanished off t', an' for what reasons, I do not know, any more than I know where 'e currently walks. I apologize again, Jedi. This is the end of what I can do."

The three Jedi did not speak for a stricken moment. Tristanas shuffled his armored boots and twiddled his gloved thumbs together, occasionally scratching his scalp, extremely uncomfortable and lost for further words.

He opened his mouth to break the silence. Larring raised a palm to stop him.

"Say no more, Director. We have understood all."

Tristanas nodded and stood to his feet, folding his arms humbly over his CorSec armor. "I know that this comes as tragic news t' ya, Jedi. Is there anythin' more I can do t' 'elp?"

Larring, Divan, and Larina looked round at each other. Divan met the Dormouse's eyes and asked, "Director, would it be possible for you to give us the location of the apartment complexes at Treasure Ship Row? Perhaps if we found Tinarandel's apartment, we may be able to find evidence of his activities on Corellia, and possibly where he went after he left."

Tristanas instantly understood and motioned to follow him. On the desk at the front of the lobby sat a computer monitor and a holopad. Tristanas switched on the monitor and waited for it to boot up, before connecting the holopad to it with a cord.

"I'll download this 'ere map o' Coronet City an' mark th' exact location o' Treasure Ship Row on it fer yar reference." He typed on the keyboard and opened a couple applications and programs. More typing, followed by the click of a mouse, then, "Done!" He disconnected the holopad and passed it to Larina, who stored it securely away inside her messenger bag.

Tristanas switched off the computer and sighed stressfully, kneading his forehead in mild frustration. After a few seconds, he dropped his paw and stared at the Jedi sympathetically.

"If I may please ask, Jedi…Why is Tinarandel special t' each o' ya, individually?"

Divan tucked the holopad under his arm and faced Tristanas. His normally stoic face was cracked with clear regret. "I had a duty to Tinarandel to protect his siblings during the Wars. On Dxun, he was transferred to another commander's unit, by their orders. I failed in my promise to protect his dear younger siblings, Isidith and Vadrieriand, and it cost them their lives, and me my integrity."

He hung his head and exhaled slowly. "I seek redemption for my failure, and hope that by finding Tinarandel, I can be granted it. He is my fellow Jedi, my brother in our Order. I wish for nothing more than forgiveness for my failures. I likewise daily, _endlessly_ , ponder the unanswerable question: who laid those traps around the munition caches in the jungles?"

Tristanas nodded empathetically, and turned to Larina.

Larina rubbed the back of her neck, her expression bashful and her eyes averted towards the rugs on the floor. "Tinarandel and me…we share…." She gulped inaudibly. "We share a bond of sorts, Director."

Tristanas' eyes drooped with sterling sympathy. "Ya two are close?"

Larina, still not meeting his eyes and not those of the other Jedi, did not respond.

"I understand, Knight Larina." Tristanas politely patted her shoulders. "It makes ya uncomfortable. I'll not press further."

He went over to Master Larring and folded his paws over each other. "What about ya, Master Larrin'?"

Larring clasped his paws together and interlaced his fingers, before slowly, gently pressing his closed fists to the tip of his muzzle, his eyes slightly watering and his cheeks drooping.

"The magnitude of this mission and the unbearable burdens it has placed upon them has troubled my Apprentices. It weighs their hearts and clouds their minds in so that the Force has difficulty speaking to them. Their troubles are likewise mine, and they bring sadness and confusion to me of the same degree. As their Jedi Master, guide, and counselor, my personal mission is to give my aid and counsel so that they may remain clear of mind and light of heart, so as to place all their focus on completing this task given to us by the Jedi Order, and finding Tinarandel at last. Nothing is more or less. I know my duty to them and to our Order."

"Aye, I can relate t' that." Tristanas nodded empathetically.

Larring extended his paw to shake the Dormouse's. "Thank you so much again, Director. We most appreciate your help."

"Good luck, Jedi. When ya get there, ask fer Feslar Kehamm, th' Property Manager." Tristanas gladly shook Larring's paw, then Divan and then Larina's.

He showed them to the doors and opened them up. Each Jedi bowed their heads as they passed over the threshold and reemerged into the low early-evening sunlight.

An inkling to turn back around and look back inside the building arose in Larina's heart, and she surrendered to it, her eyes gazing longingly, sadly at the beautiful atrium.

 _What did Tinarandel think coming here? What was it like for him? Did he find what he searched for? If he had but found it!_

 _Had destiny allowed me to be there for him!_

Yet, she shook her head despairingly and turned away without a single word.

Divan asked for the CorSec holopad, and Larina retrieved it from her bag. He held it up against the sunlight and closely studied the map. Tristanas had labeled the location of Treasure Ship Row with a blinking yellow dot, and thoroughly outlined the fastest traffic route from One CorSec Plaza. Against the lashing fury of the early-evening winds, which had died down only slightly since the last time, Larring and Larina hailed a taxi. Divan stowed away the holopad inside his Jedi robe and joined them in the back of a grav-cab taxi speeder.

Tristanas watched forlornly from the open doorway of the Headquarters. He'd seen Larina stare back at it fruitlessly, perhaps lost in downhearted reveries. Out of respect for her privacy, he'd said nothing on it. After the taxi speeder had disappeared from view, obscured by the thick traffic, the Dormouse turned away and shook his head in resignation before shutting the doors.

 _Forcespeed, Jedi. Goodness knows you'll need it._

* * *

 **Blue Sector, Treasure Ship Row**

When the M-68 landspeeder entered the Blue Sector, One CorSec Plaza's oversaturated curtains of bright yellow, red, orange, and white now seamlessly faded into a drab muted cloak of gray, black, silver, and various shades of blue. The Jedi, while fazed somewhat by the drastic change in colors, and somewhat less comfortable in the darker hues that now surrounded them, remained strictly focused on their task as the landspeeder continued drifting down the road.

After they arrived and the taxi left them alone, Divan removed the holopad from his robes and turned on the screen. He briefly read the map and pointed northeastward. The yellow dot marked their current position, and it moved as they traversed the streets into the Blue Sector's residential areas.

They turned the next couple of corners into the bustling gigantic open-air shopping mall that was Treasure Ship Row, and on the east side to their right stood the towering apartment complex. They carefully hurried through the crosswalk and stepped up to the main doors of the building.

Larring sat down on a stone bench to shake dust off the bottom of his thick leather boots. During the drive, he'd chosen to bite back his disdain for the nostril-scorching amalgam of scents coming from the factories. He did not bother to plug his muzzle anymore, and instead disciplined himself to develop an immunity of sorts to it. That hadn't worked like he'd intended, but thankfully, the drive was surprisingly short, and he voiced no complaints.

When he stood back up, he saw Divan and Larina standing before the doors of the apartment building, still as statues. He saw the confusion and depression painted over their complexions, and neither moved for a drawn-out voiceless minute.

Larring stood up and walked to them, concerned. "Divan? Larina? Is everything all right, my children?"

At length, Larina shook her head despairingly. "No, Master Larring. Everything is not all right. In fact," her voice choked for a moment, and Larring could sense the downward shift in her emotions. "Nothing has been right since we arrived on Corellia."

Their faces drooped, rent with nostalgia. Divan reached out a longing paw, but grasped at a void of emptiness.

"This place….looks…feels familiar."

"Yet it is also not…" Larina sadly added.

"Was this place our home?" Divan asked hopelessly. "Were we born here? Did our parents and our families live here, before the Jedi found us and took us away?"

No answer came from Larina, who was preoccupied with drawing on the Force to subdue the wistfulness budding in her heart.

From the stone bench, Larring's heart wrenched and twisted sorrowfully in his chest. He gulped helplessly and sat back down, his eyes immovably fixed on the two silent Jedi Knights standing half a meter away, staring up at the 10-story apartment building that loomed imposingly over them.

 _Would there was something I could do to help them!_ But he understood such pleadings were futile. Yet the thoughts nagged at him, and he felt his heart sink ever lower.

 _This planet is home to them – or it was. Until the Jedi found them and stole them from their families. 20 years later, the world has changed. Are their parents long gone, like Tinarandel's? Were they also murdered, or did they leave the planet to go somewhere else? Why?_

 _They want to know of their former lives, what they had before the Jedi. Now…they will never know. Tinarandel will never know._

He bit his lip to keep his face from cracking, but inside his mind he was kicking himself.

 _What have I done? Force, tell me, what have I done?!_

But the Force spoke not to him, neither in a bellow nor in a whisper. Larring curled his lips back over his teeth in defeat.

There was only one thing to do.

He pushed himself to his feet and went up behind the two Squirrelans, resting his paws consolingly on their shoulders. "I'm so sorry, my Apprentices. There is nothing I can do. We must remain focused on the task at hand. We will have time to discuss your feelings later, I promise."

"It…it looks like home," Divan's voice faltered faintly.

"So why doesn't it feel like home?" completed Larina.

Larring held the two Squirrelans close to his sides for a short moment, and then stepped forward in front of them. "Please, we have to keep moving. Come, let's go inside."

Through the currents of the Force, Divan and Larina descended into a mental meditation, clearing their clouded minds and repressing their gnawing feelings of longing and hopelessness. After a minute or so, they each flanked Larring and walked beside him into the complex.

Newfangled burdening despair and twinging regret pulled at all three of them. But they ignored their folly emotions and ascended a short stone staircase up to the bronze-framed double glass doors.

The doors opened up into an irregular nonagon lobby, a stark contrast to the simple and mostly rectangular quadrilateral of the CorSec Headquarters. The walls were mixed hues of alabaster white and sun yellow. The obsidian tile floor was covered up by an enormous silk and velvet maroon rug embroidered with orange tassels and garters. Small diamond and crystal chandeliers hung lazily overhead, and to the left and right sat various furniture inside snug square alcoves.

While the Jedi walked the length of the enormous rug and approached the Front Desk, their ears picked up the sounds of whispers from tenants on both sides.

"Jedi? Here? On Corellia?"

"Ignore them! Their presence usually brings naught but trouble, I believe!"

"Come on, I'm sure it'll be fine! They'd not be 'ere if'n it warn't 'mportant."

"Aye, I be on their side, too! Whatever's going on, we can count on them to make it better!"

At the elongated marble Front Desk stood a tall male bespectacled Iktotchi typing busily on a computer monitor. He looked up at the screen at the Jedi coming towards him.

"Yes?" He removed his bronze-colored horn-rimmed glasses and put them aside on the counter. "What is it, Jedi?"

"Hello, sir." Divan nodded at the Iktotchi. "We are looking for Feslar Kehamm?"

"I am he," Feslar acknowledged back. He stepped away from the computer so they could speak properly. "How can I help you?"

Divan introduced his companions and then asked, "We are inquiring about a former tenant of yours, Tinarandel?"

To their surprise, the Iktotchi smiled knowingly, and musingly stroked his cranial horns. "Ahhh…I predicted this time would come. If you are not aware, Iktotchi possess the inborn gift of foresight. For an entire standard year, I have foreseen this very day, Jedi. My immeasurable distance from my homeworld has not diminished my precognition, as you see. Yes, I know whom you seek. My question to you is, what business have you with him? If it be good, I shall show you the way to his place; but if it be ill, then no further than this lobby shall you come."

Feslar stared at the Jedi, mystified. "You know that Tinarandel has long since been gone, and that his place is vacant? Regardless of that circumstance, it is still his property by inheritance."

"Yes, we do know that, Feslar." Larring confirmed with a nod. "We have just come from CorSec Headquarters."

Feslar turned to Larring, drumming his fingers on the marble desk below the counter. "Then you already know everything that transpired last year from Director Tristanas, and it spares me the trouble of reiteration. Why, then, Master Larring, do you wish to see the home? Even off-world, I doubt he would approve of you going through his former residence, wishing harm or benevolence, unless with reason."

The vexed Larring sighed, and his whiskers bristled in annoyance, loath to say the same things he had said to Tristanas. "We mean no harm, Feslar. We just want to find anything that might help us figure out where he went."

Feslar knew it was pointless to argue with the Badger's brutal honesty. He opened another application on the computer and scrolled through a property management database.

"Here he was." Feslar turned the monitor around, and Divan, Larina, and Larring looked where he pointed. "The information bolded in red in the table indicates the room is still owned by Tinarandel, and that he has strictly disallowed anyone to purchase it from him, lease or otherwise. It remains his, perhaps permanently, and no one else, Creature or Alien, is allowed to take it from him. I fear you'll have trouble getting in."

He turned the screen back and pointed at an elevator a few feet away embedded in the wall. "Go up to the third floor and look for Room 36. And be mindful of what you find. This is your only warning. Be careful of what you see in there."

Larina smiled confidently at him. "Don't worry, Feslar. We are Jedi. We can handle anything."

But Feslar was shaking his head doubtfully. "All due respect, Knight Larina, but I am not talking about just the outside."

Larring followed the other two inside the elevator. "Thank you, Feslar. We won't take long."

In an instant minute, the elevator arrived at the third door. The Jedi stepped out one by one into a brightly lit hallway, its colors and makeup identical to the lobby below. Divan read a map on the wall and pointed to the left hallway. Room 36 was the first room around the corner, on the opposite side. But the number wasn't what caught the Jedi's eyes.

A metallic electronic lock wrapped around the golden doorknob, accompanied by three glowing green lights topping its square capsule. Beneath the doorknob was a pad numbered 0-9.

"An electronic lock?" Larring observed admiringly. "And a four-digit code to enter? Oh, Tinarandel, you always were a shrewd one!"

Divan threw his arms up in dismay. "But we don't have time to figure this out!"

"You're right, Divan, we don't." Larring stooped down to further admire the lock design. "Oh, but how brilliant an idea this is! Perhaps Tinarandel installed it himself, to prevent prospective tenants from attempting to purchase the property from him before and after he left the planet. He was always – er, what does your young generation call it?" He bent sideways to glance at them, lost for the words.

"'Tech-savvy," Larina clarified for him, and Larring nodded in thanks.

Larina traced her fingers across the three green lights. "Seems to me like we are allowed three tries to guess the password, and no more. If we use up all of them, we'll be locked out. We'd best be thoughtful. It will take all our brainpower to solve this conundrum we've now gotten ourselves into."

She scratched her chin, thinking deeply. "If we assume that each number can only be used once, that makes for 10,000 possible combinations and permutations."

Divan came abreast of Larina and ran his fingers delicately along the number pad. "Let me go first. I've got an idea…"

He typed out one number at a time, **2353.**

"Div, don't!" The other two tried to stop him.

The lock blared loudly harsher than a low trumpet, and without warning, one of the green lights blinked from green to red.

Larina glared at Divan, scolding him. "Well done, you've wasted one of our chances!"

"Corellia's hyperspace coordinates!" Divan shrugged in his defense, quickly and apologetically backing away from the door and his angry fellow Jedi Knight. "The first thing that popped into my head!"

"No, no, no…" Larring mused, scratching his muzzle curiously and then his chin. "No, Tinarandel is much smarter than that. It's his room, after all. He'd want to make it something more complicated, less straightforward. What about…Dantooine's coordinates?"

The Badger typed **8738** in the pad. The lock beeped sharply a second time, and the middle green light turned red. He shrugged, unfazed. "It was worth the try."

Divan and Larring stood leaning against the wall in practical discussion. Divan complained reasonably about the lack of time on their side to consider all 10,000 permutations of the code. Larring agreed again, not judging the Knight for his impatience, while mentally calculating half the combinations with rapid precision, but unable to find the proper answer.

Larina was left standing at the door alone. She leaned to one side of the door frame, her eyes moving between the lock and the doorknob, the number pad beneath it, from the two red lights to the remaining green light.

They were running out of time. She needed an answer fast. The answer.

 _Think, Larina, think!_

She straightened her posture and began pacing down the hallway, pivoting on her heels when she reached the wall, and walking off in the other direction.

 _If I know him, my Tinarandel, he'd want this code to represent something personal to him, something of deep significance, esoteric that he alone knows and is most familiar with!_

Her mind flew back many standard years, back when Tinarandel was still of the Jedi Order, back when the two of them had first started talking together alone. Although trivial information in hindsight, as part of getting to know each other better, they had casually exchanged their years of birth.

A small gasp escaped her, but her friends, still engrossed in their debate, failed to hear it. Larina's hazel eyes widened to the shape of a lightsaber pommel.

She stopped herself short of accidentally reaching the next room over, and swiftly turned on her heels and walked back to Room 36. Confident in her solution, she typed in **3935**.

The lock chirped and whirred as it unlatched smoothly from the doorknob and retracted inside its square capsule. The last green light shone brightly, and the doorknob loosened up. Larina grasped it and pushed. The door opened with ease.

Larring and Divan gaped open-mouthed at her. "How in the Force did you figure that out?"

Larina swayed her brown bushy Squirrelan tail from side to side, smiling humbly. "Lucky guess."

They entered into a sightless room. Larring fumbled around for a light switch and flipped it on. The lights illuminated a plain yet comfy and polished loft, an uneven disproportionate decagon highlighted by a maple wood floor and walls, and a flat unappealing ceiling. To the right, a color television screen sat on a short dresser, and beside that, a winder staircase led to an upper floor. An outspread body-length mirror laid horizontally dominated the right-most wall. Before them sat a blue cushioned soft-leather couch, its throw pillows laid meticulously on their backs on the armrests and center cushion. To their diagonal far left stood a refrigerator, still functional yet completely empty. A foot away from that was set a round glass table and five chairs pushed in around it, its top devoid of food or chinaware. A spotless sink conjoined with a dishwasher took up the far-left divider, and to the right of it a door to the bathroom. The artificial light from the ceiling blended with the fading natural light shining from the curtained iron-barred windows above the couch bathed the entire area in a rather ethereal aura.

Divan browsed the entire apartment, and chuckled at the instant obvious conclusion. "Well, whatever he did while living here, he sure took the time to care for the place. Look, not a single dust speck in sight!"

Larring opened the refrigerator and freezer doors. "Voids. He must've taken all the food with him when he left, perishable and non-perishable alike. Curious, there's still ice in the icebox." He removed a couple frozen ice cubes, held them flat in his palms, and then replaced them, shaking the cold from his paws.

Larina standing at the sink noticed groups of dried water spots, residues from repeated dishwashing by Tinarandel. When she opened up the small dishwasher, she found two racks full of dishes, china, silverware, and plasticware, all meticulously washed and dried. "You have to admire his work ethic. I always did. He truly put his heart into honoring his parents' former residence."

"Shall we go upstairs?" Divan suggested. Larina shut the dishwasher and joined him on the staircase. The two Knights climbed to the upper floor, while Larring stayed behind to examine the bathroom.

The Badger took in the claustrophobic rectangular space: sink, mirror, medicine cabinet, and toilet on his left side, and the horizontal square shower directly in front of him. This too had an iron-barred window on the wall shut for privacy. Larring carefully closed the glass door, but not before noticing how attentively clean the entire shower was: the head straightened and polished, the soap holder bare, and a bunch of towels and shampoo bottles missing.

 _Wherever he disappeared off to, at least he knew what to pack. He knew how to be prepared for anything. That's a dedication to oneself I can admire._

He closed the toilet lid and washed his paws in the sink with a bar of soap he'd found in the cabinets below it. The medicine cabinet too was empty. Through his mind's eye with the Force, Larring carefully searched backwards through time, seeing the cabinet as it was in the past. It once housed a short container of anti-itch ointment, a spare toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, mouthwash and floss, hairspray and hairbrush, and a pack of different kinds of facial cleansers as well as a medical kit. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, Tinarandel had packed these too before leaving the planet.

His retrocognition was abruptly interrupted by a knock at the door, and he opened it to find Larina standing below the threshold.

"Master Larring? We found something."

Larring nodded and left the bathroom to follow Larina upstairs. At the summit of the winder staircase was an alcove filled with storage boxes and miscellaneous items on his left, and two bedrooms to his right, parallel to each other. Larina directed him to the bedroom on the right.

Divan sat on the lower bunk of a standard bunk bed, holding a thinner slimmer holopad in his paws with a look of dubiety but evident inquisitiveness. As Larring and Larina squeezed into the cramped rectangular room, he stood up and showed them what he was looking at.

"Check this out." He handed it to Larring. "HoloNet report transcriptions, dated a standard year ago."

Larring brightened the screen and read the texts aloud to his Apprentices.

" **3960 BBY, Primeday**

 **MIDDLE-AGED COUPLE in TREASURE SHIP ROW APARTMENTS is MURDERED MERCILESSLY by SWOOP GANGS in BLUE SECTOR**

Dus Tuthu, Ithorian, News Reporter

 **CORONET CITY – A middle-aged couple living in the apartments at Treasure Ship Row was mercilessly murdered by the swoop gangs of the Blue Sector late yesterday evening.**

 **The motives for the killings are so far unclear, however it is assumed by CorSec that it may be related to the couple's competitive Pazaak playing with swoop gang members, and accumulating unpayable gambling debts from continual losses.**

 **This remains loose and unsubstantiated speculation; legitimate details remain generally murky at best.**

 **CorSec will investigate the slayings, searching for both details that may aid in tracking down those responsible.**

 **Solving the case is the utmost priority of CorSec.**

 **A state of emergency is in the interim declared for the entirety of the Blue Sector.**

 **The deceased couple, Elémir, 58, and Norith, 56, notwithstanding their theorized excessive gambling habits, were otherwise upstanding citizens of the law in Coronet City.**

 **Elémir was a ship mechanic at the Corellian Shipyards, while Norith worked in the Blue Sector as an expert jewelry crafter and merchant.**

 **They were not known to have any offspring or next of kin.**

 **For the time being while the tragedy is investigated by CorSec, their apartment will be sealed from unauthorized usage and entry by order of the property management.**

 **3960 BBY, Centaxday**

 **MYSTERIOUS UNNAMED JEDI VIGILANTE PROTECTS TREASURE SHIP ROW from SWOOP GANGS, AVENGES RECENTLY-MURDERED COUPLE**

Cossal, Mousemaid, Journalist

 **BLUE SECTOR – An unidentified hooded and cloaked vigilante dressed in Jedi garb defended apartment tenants from another attempted assault by the swoop gangs.**

 **The gangs were allegedly determined to commit a second unmotivated attack on innocent civilians, before being hindered by a nameless male Squirrelan wearing the standard brown robes and tan tunic typically associated with the Jedi.**

 **This Squirrelan did not wield a lightsaber, but attacked and defended exclusively with diverse forms of martial arts combat, of which he displayed exceptional proficiency, and both protected civilians and drove back the gangsters; in addition, by the credible testimonies of eyewitnesses and passersby, it can be presumed that he wielded the esoteric power of the Force as well.**

 **This supposed Jedi apparently operated alone against the gangs, without the assistance of CorSec.**

 **The gangsters never entered the apartment complex, repelled by the vigilante; roughly two dozen were hospitalized with severe to mortal injuries, and half died in the hospital before the week's end.**

 **Remainders of the thugs who survived the retaliatory beatdown were eventually discharged from the hospital the next week, after which they were subsequently arrested by CorSec agents.**

 **Although the stranger was hailed as a hero by the general populace, he refused all forms of interaction with the media, including this reporter; his identity is likewise unknown.**

 **It is hypothesized by CorSec that the Squirrelan attacked the swoop gangs with the intent of avenging the couple, Elémir and Norith, who were yesterday murdered by the gangs – CorSec speculates he was biologically related to the deceased in some way.**

 **As already mentioned, he has since evaded media attention and public exposure by unidentifiable means; yet, the residents of the Blue Sector continue to publicly revere and honor him as a fearless and powerful hero.**

Larring slowly placed the holopad onto a compact armoire desk sitting tucked between two ceiling-height dressers. A shell-shocked quietude descended on the Jedi. Larina seated herself in the desk chair, her face pale. Larring laid a sympathetic paw on her shoulder, his muzzle shut and his body shaking with fright. Divan had sat back down on the bunk bed during the reading.

Finally, he dared to shatter the silence.

"It's our fault," he whispered, too afraid to speak up fully. "It's our fault as Jedi, for not being there to prevent all of this from happening. Our fault for not helping Tinarandel to take down the thugs, and that's why he did it by himself. We are supposed to be the defenders of the Galaxy. We could have stopped it before it happened. But now…" He shut his eyes and dropped his face in defeat into his palms. "Now our failure has never been greater."

"There's nothing more we can do," Larina's voice was marred with sorrow, her face crestfallen and pale. "The battle is lost for us. Our search has been in vain."

Larring picked up the holopad again and reread the latter article about Tinarandel's retaliatory actions against the gangsters. "Not quite. Look here." He pointed to every paragraph of the article. "It says that his name was hidden from the media, and that it remained so throughout his time hiding under the radar in the Blue Sector. Perhaps, I speculate, that it was intentionally kept secret, to protect Tinarandel's identity and therefore his reputation as a former Jedi. I reckon this came before he began slandering our Order on the HoloNet, yet continued to keep himself unnamed."

"Force Cloak…" Divan realized, now speaking with a much fuller voice, his eyes round and wide as they rose from his paws.

"Hmm?" Larina swung around in the desk chair to stare at her fellow Jedi Knight, swinging her legs over the other side. "What do you mean, Div?"

"Force Cloak!" Divan repeated, his reddish Squirrelan eyes suddenly glowing as if they'd discovered something brilliant. "It's his Force specialty! Don't you see the metaphor? Just as he Cloaked himself to hide from his enemies during battle, so did he Cloak his name from the media and the presses to preserve his identity while he lived here in Treasure Ship Row! The lock on the front door says it all!"

"The clues add up!" Larring nodded at the holopad on the desk, its screen gone dark from inactivity. "Indeed, Tinarandel never ceased being such an independent thinker. We should've noticed his signs of self-motivation sooner. Let's bring this to Tristanas right away."

Larring stepped out of the bedroom and back into the cramped hallway. "Never eliminate the impossible, and never underestimate the likely. Tristanas might know something we don't. Recall the second line of the Jedi Code: ' _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.'_ Let's get going."

They descended the stairs back down to the main room. Larring and Divan checked that everything was still clean and organized before leaving the apartment together. Unbeknownst to them, Larina had remained inside, sitting down in the middle of the blue couch, sighing regretfully.

She looked around the immaculate and spotless room, and her gaze fell on the undecorated dining table. Her mind wandered off into wistful fancies.

 _Would me and Tinarandel lived here, if we'd never been taken from our families to become Jedi? Imagine it! Tinarandel introducing me to his parents, and them inviting me to have dinner with them! Imagine the four of us together, having wonderful practical talk and intellectually-stimulating discussions about things outside of the Force! Imagine his siblings accepting me into their family, and his parents giving me them their blessings for my relationship with Tinarandel!_

 _What if we had been given our own place here? We could have married, raised children, and started a family. We'd have trained our children in the ways of the Force, raising them to become Jedi, vigilant and powerful defenders of Coronet City!_

She restrained herself from going any further than that, hung her head low against her chest, and subconsciously rued unexpectedly having such woebegone reveries.

 _Larina! Grow up, and have done with these chimerical fantasies! They'll do you no good! Recall the Jedi Code!_

' _There is no passion, there is serenity.'_

She instantly stood up, and without a thought, switched off the lights and left, noiselessly shutting the door behind her.

As the Jedi returned to the elevator, the electronic lock reattached itself to the doorknob.

* * *

Larring stepped out of the elevator first, followed by his two Apprentices. He proceeded to the front desk and presented the slim holopad with the HoloNet reports on it. The Iktotchi took one deadpan look at the screen and sighed in exhaustion.

"I warned you. I really did. I always knew about it, what Tinarandel did to the swoop gangs. In fact, it happened right outside these here doors, the same through which you yourselves entered."

"Why did you do nothing about it?" Larring questioned, trying his hardest not to sound like an interrogator.

Feslar glared at him. "Because the swoop gangs have strength in numbers, and think as such as they are. I may not be a Jedi, yet I can assure you I fought back with all the adrenaline in my body."

He turned his head slightly sideways. His right cranial horn was heavily scratched and split open, and his left horn had been brutally cut off at the pointed tip.

"You think I didn't do anything about it? What do you think you see here?"

"They still overpowered you," Divan observed, his voice rent with shock.

"And now Elémir and Norith are dead because of it. More would have soon followed had Tinarandel not driven the gangs back. For the past year, Treasure Ship Row has known perfect peace as a result of his fearless actions. Now, tell me, Jedi: what if it was you? Could you have done it better than he did?"

When none answered, and Feslar discerned the guilty fear on their faces, he scoffed and looked back at his computer. "I thought so. You may take Tinarandel's holopad with you, but nothing more. Tristanas can help you with it better than I can. Good day, Jedi."

Still reeling from their discoveries, the Jedi exited the apartments back into the Corellian mid-evening. The sunset had since passed and the black curtain of night now descended like a starless half-moon covered over the entire planet. All optimism lost, Larring placed Tinarandel's holopad into Larina's bag. The female Squirrelan herself was still stricken and speechless. Neither she nor Divan spoke even when Larring asked their opinions on their findings.

Divan, having finished smoothing out his robe sleeves, lifted his gaze up to across the street, where a female Togruta stood behind a food cart selling portion bread for 3 credits apiece. Instantly, Divan's stomach grumbled under his tunic, and he surprised himself with a laugh at the unexpected outburst. He got Larring and Larina's attention and indicated the food cart on the other side of the street. Both were also hungry, and they hurried through the nearest crosswalk.

"Portion bread, portion bread here!" the female adult Togruta barked happily from her cart. "Full portions hot and fresh from my oven and water bowls! Eat them plain or eat them topped; either way, you'll love them all over! Step right up and try them tonight! Just 3 credits apiece, to stave off your snack cravings until you get home for your hearty dinners!" She smacked the top of her working oven cheerfully and peered over it at his newest customers.

"Hey, ho, Jedi! I am Ahashaa, and I'd like to invite you to try my fresh hot portion bread! You can eat them plain or with toppings! How may I satisfy your hunger?"

"3 breads, please, plain." Larring answered, and paid the 27 credits.

"Right away, Master Jedi! 3 plain, on the double!" Ahashaa set to work and quickly produced three flawlessly baked portion bread, chock full of nutrition and flavor to boot. She gladly gave them to each Jedi, who began biting hungrily.

"So," she leaned forwards over her cash register. "Your verdicts? I've never gotten a professional opinion from Jedi before."

Larring flashed Ahashaa an approving and beaming thumbs-up. He swallowed his mouthful and clarified for the Togruta. "It is fantastic, Ahashaa. The way it just melts in your mouth, so grainy and thick and flavorful. I love it!"

"Every bite is better than the last!" Divan commented cheerfully before eating another half-mouthful.

Larina nodded as well. "Exquisite baking, this is. Wonderful!"

Ahashaa laughed heartily and slapped her thigh. "Yes! Thank you! Your opinions mean more to me than you can imagine! So, then," she inquired as she organized her toppings and sauces. "What brings Jedi to Corellia?"

They swallowed their bites and explained in fullest unaltered detail of their business of Corellia, and Ahashaa listened attentively, and did not speak until the very end. When Larring had finished explaining that they'd just left the apartments, she sighed despondently.

"I heard a little bit of that Squirrelan. Tinarandel, you say his name was? The HoloNet never told us that. That explains so much. Never met him face-to-face, though. I'm sorry to say that I don't know that much about him."

"Eh, not that ye need ta, anyway, Aha!"

Next to the cart, wrapped in blankets and emerging from within a sleeping bag came an aged wrinkled stocky male Shrew, dressed in sleeveless knee-length cloth rags, a thin sweatband between his ears and a tobacco pipe hanging loosely in his mouth.

Ahashaa grumbled and gave the Jedi a clueless shrug. "That's Wayne, my…er…hobo."

Wayne snickered and puffed from his tobacco pipe. "Tinarandel ain't on anyone's mind nowadays. Knew how ta keep unda tha radar, he did."

He held the pipe in the left corner of his mouth and stared blankly up at the Jedi. "Ya still searching for him? Ya won't find him here!"

Larina approached Wayne, broke off a piece of her bead and handed it to him. "Here, take this. You look like you should eat something."

Wayne chuckled sincerely and gladly took the piece of bread. "Thankee, lady Jedi." He removed the pipe from his mouth and popped the bread inside, chewing contently. Then he puffed his pipe a second time.

"If everybeast across the Galaxy had yar generosity, then it'd be a far betta part of tha universe ta live in, I'm sure. I assume Tinarandel felt tha same, and maybe that's why he left Corellia." Wayne drank from a canteen of water before continuing.

"Eh, whaddaya want me ta do? Whadda I know? I'm just a street hobo." When the Jedi raised their eyebrows at him, he relented. "Okay, fine. I know more than I'm lettin' on, I confess. Would ya like ta hear tha story? Ya probably won't like it."

"Don't be so pessimistic, Wayne." Ahashaa counseled the Shrew before she started to help another customer.

Wayne simply stuck out his tongue rudely at the Togruta while her back was turned, and met eyes with the Jedi.

"Tinarandel brought hope ta Corellia even when he'd probably long ago lost his own. That Squirrelan saved us from tha swoop gangs and other criminals of tha streets. I still distinctly remember tha day he jumped those criminals from tha shadows of tha night, a predator with tha Force. He ambushed those monsters like a storm, full of unleashed fury and ferocity, and using every single attack he thought of. Punching, kicking, biting, scratching, and performing the most aggressive martial arts ever seen on Corellia. All the while, he's screaming sumthin' about avenging his parents or whomever.

After he'd finished, not a single gangster was spared by his paws, left bleedin', beaten, and broken by him. Like the HoloNet said, two dozen ended up in tha hospital, an' twelve died by tha weekend. Tinarandel held nothing back, a savage wrathful Creature, a living wraith in Jedi robes."

Wayne adjusted his posture in the sleeping bag and moved his pipe to the other side of his mouth.

"Mind ya, he didn't come outta that beatdown unscathed. He allowed medical help. After that…well, nobeast eva saw him in public again. If he eva _did_ come out, you know, ta shop or patrol or whateva, he must've done so in some Jedi disguise or sumthin'. Perhaps outta sheer terror that history might repeat itself, tha swoop gangs have neva touched Treasure Ship Row since!

A standard year passed an' he up an' vanished like a shadow! Now he's beyon' reach! Beyon' my reach, beyon' CorSec's reach, an' beyon' yar reach, Jedi! There's nuthin' ya can do anymore! Get outta here, quit while ya still can!"

Larina shook her head and stared into Wayne's eyes optimistically. "There is still hope, Wayne. There is always hope in the Force."

Wayne growled in his throat and tapped his pipe unconsciously. "I'm afraid not, lady Jedi. I gave up my hope a lon' time ago, lemme tell ya. If there was hope, if I had some…" He looked past Larina at the apartment complex. "Then I'd be livin' there, in luxury and in comfort. No, my future is an empty void o' nuthin'. Look where I am, on tha streets, sleeping in a bag, in the same sidewalk on the same corner in the same sector fer tha past year."

He looked back up at Larina, his eyes drooping. "Admit it, milady. Corellia is done for. The Mandalorian Wars broke us all."

"They broke our worlds," Larring protested. "But they did not break our spirits. At least you still have a home, Wayne."

But the despondent Shrew shook his head hopelessly. "If this be a home, Master Badger…then it be a most bitter home indeed."

He lowered his head and smoked his pipe scrupulously. Ahashaa stopped adjusting settings on her oven and waved offhand at the Jedi to say nothing more.

Realizing there was nothing more that could be done for either of them, Larring thanked the Togruta generously for her food, tipped her another 14 credits, and called for a third landspeeder taxi back to CorSec.

* * *

 **CorSec Headquarters**

"Are ye Jedi _**deranged?!**_ "

Tristanas hopped up irately from his chair, teeth gritted and eyes burning. The Jedi, sitting in the same seats they had before, raised their paws to stop him from exploding.

"We are not blaming you for anything, Director." Divan claimed genuinely. "We simply want to know the truth of everything."

"What truth?!" Tristanas retorted. "Everything you need to know is in there!" He pointed at Larina's messenger bag, held close to its owner's body protectively. "What more need be said?"

Rather than sit back down, he paced from side to side in front of his chair, paws behind his back, and refusing to make eye contact.

"Tinarandel did what nobeast else willed t' do; what everyone in th' Blue Sector was too terrified t' do. Tinarandel was our 'ero, our legen'. Ya thin' I feel no different about 'im?"

"You could've done something to help him!" Divan argued, no longer bothering to be polite. He consciously ignored Larring and Larina's efforts to placate him, while he stood up and clenched his fists at the Dormouse. "If the thugs have been plaguing the Blue Sector for years, why didn't you take any steps to take them down? Free Coronet City from their oppression once and for all?"

Tristanas stopped in front of his chair and scowled back at Divan with a tranquil rage contained behind his teeth.

"Listen 'ere, Knight Divan. I have spent th' better part o' a decade wagin' war on crime in Coronet. In that time, I 'ave seen CorSec's smartest an' 'ardiest agents fall in the field. Agents I considered my own family, whom I was honored t' call my brothers an' sisters! Do ya see me becoming blinded by bloodlust an' revenge?! No! Don't tell me ye didn't feel th' same way durin' th' Mandalorian Wars! When ya saw yar fellow Jedi die in th' wildernesses of Dxun, did yer 'eart break fer em?!

"Ya've no idea what we've been through. I knew Elémir an' Norith personally well. Ya are righ', Divan, in sayin' that we should've done somethin' t' prevent their slayings, an' 'elpin' Tinarandel. Th' simple truth is…we just weren't fast enough.

Notwithstanding…indulge me this: where were th' Jedi during our decade o' terror? Too busy lickin' yar wounds from th' Wars; buryin' yar own dead an' forgettin' about everyone else's! Ya left us t' fen' fer ourselves, crawlin' on our paws an' knees in the dark while ye reveled in th' light! The Galaxy crumbled under th' burden o' the Mandalorian Wars. Where were ya when Corellia bled?!"

Tristanas reached out and gently lowered Divan's fists. "Think about that, Knight Divan. Return back t' Corellia when ya've a change o' 'eart, eh?"

Divan, legitimately blameworthy for how he'd acted, sat down, sufficiently chastened. Tristanas too returned to his chair.

Larring cradled his wrists fitfully. "We are sorry for what has happened, Director, and for everything that hasn't happened due to our neglect and ignorance. We accept full responsibility."

Tristanas bit his lip, holding back more accusatory and insulting statements. "I understan' completely, Master Larrin'. Th' Mandalorian Wars affected us all. Ya are forgiven, an' yar Apprentices."

He stood up and walked over to the counter, booting up the computer monitor.

"Listen," Tristanas called to them. "I don't want ya t' feel ashamed fer what ya 'ave or 'aven't done. Th' past is th' past, an' oughta remain so. Take it from somebeast who knows."

He smiled brightly while he typed on the computer. "Keep holdin' onto yar faith. I may know nothin' o' th' Force myself. In any case, I do know that anythin' is possible lon' as ya put yar minds t' it. A little bit o' faith…can go th' longest way."

Larring went behind the desk and shook Tristanas' paws. Tristanas clasped Larring's large paws between his own.

"Thank you so much again, Director. You've been an invaluable help to us. We'll never forget your generosity."

Tristanas' eyes were filled with empathy. "I implore ya fin' 'im, Master Larrin'. I truly do. After everythin' that's come before, I'd 'ate for anythin' terrible t' 'appen t' 'im. Forcespeed."

Divan stood beside Larina and watched as she removed the CorSec holopad from her bag and offered it back to the Director, whose smile never faded as he respectfully pressed it back into Larina's paw.

"Keep it. Tinarandel's, too. They migh' come in 'andy."

Larina understood and made to turn away, before hesitating and looking at Tristanas again.

"Excuse me, Director. May Divan and me make a request, like Tinarandel did?"

Tristanas gave her a short charitable nod. "Anythin' fer a Jedi. What is it ya need?"

Divan glanced at the computer screen, then at the Dormouse. Larina lowered her eyes bashfully. "Can you please look up the names Skyleaf and Tonaka?" Divan requested.

A worrying reservation crossed Tristanas' countenance. "Hmm…I'm afraid those names don't strike me familiar. Lemme see."

He entered in a series of commands on his desktop and accessed a census record, scrolling watchfully with the remote.

"You're in a bit o' luck, Divan. Six standard months ago, Jacobus and Marolyn Tonaka left Corellia an' moved t' Coruscant. They were both metalworkers who received an incredible job offer t' work at Coruscant's greatest metal foundry fer a salary – get this - _triple_ their semiannual on Corellia! What an undeniable opportunity! My records say they 'aven't returned 'ere since. That bein' said, six months is still a lon' time gone."

A surprising glowing smile tugged at Divan's lips. "I am thrilled to hear that, Director. Thank you. Metalworking is a noble craft. I'll keep that in mind if I ever return to Coruscant sometime."

"Aye, ya are very welcome, Divan." He scrolled further down the census. "As fer Skyleaf…" A horrified gasp escaped him when he arrived at the name.

"What?" Larina stared at him, her mind blanked. "What is it, Director?"

Tristanas faced her, his face white, and shut his remorseful eyes. "Larina…I'm so sorry. Your parents, Edmund and Jessica Skyleaf…they passed away a decade ago t' an incurable illness."

Larina's breath stuck in her chest. Once more, a stark paleness drained the color from her brown expressionless face. Her hazel eyes darkened and filled with hot tears as her entire body heaved and quivered uncontrollably. She put her paws over her mouth and stared down at the ground. Then she fell to her knees.

"No…no, no, no…"

Divan crouched down beside her and wrapped his sympathetic arms around her shoulders, holding her close to his shoulder. Tristanas also knelt down in front of her and placed his comforting paws on the female Squirrelan's shoulders.

"I'm so sorry," was all he brought himself to say.

Larina wiped the tears from her eyes and met Tristanas'. "It is not your fault, Director." Her voice was shattered to pieces. "You…you did what you…had to. Thank you…for answering…our request…Thank you."

They both helped Larina to her feet and helped wipe away the last of her tears. Divan soothingly stroked her short brown hair before leaving out the doors.

"Larina," Tristanas asked kindly. "May I ask ya a question? What is th' Force tellin' ya now, in yar 'our o' mournin'?"

Larina sniffed and shivered on the threshold, staring at him through disheartened eyes. "It is telling me…that I must not feel my emotions. _There is no emotion, there is peace._ It is the first line of the Jedi Code, the tenets of our Order."

Tristanas nodded. "An' yar 'eart?"

She did not move to stop her last pair of tears falling down her cheeks. "That my emotions are to be felt, and will make me stronger."

"Then follow yar 'eart, Larina." Tristanas laid his palms sympathetically on Larina's shoulders. "Let it be yar guide. There is a time t' trust in th' Force, an' a time t' trust yar own instincts. Ya'll know it, when it comes."

He led her out of the Headquarters and onto the sidewalk. "May ya fin' yar peace in th' Force. May it be forever wit' ya."

Larina hefted her bag over her shoulder, and hid her tear-stained face in her hood. Walking at a sedate pace, firm against the no less antagonistic evening breeze, the words of the Shrew hobo Wayne echoed in her mind:

" _If this be a home…then it be a most bitter home indeed…"_

She felt her heart split in two, the halves misaligning from each other.

Never had those words rung truer…until now.

At the edge of the street, Tristanas folded his armored across his chest and stared out across the congested roads of Axial Park. "So, th' _Ixion_ will depart for Christophsis in another three hours an' forty-five minutes. Ya 'ave plenty o' time fer dinner. I can recommend ya a wonderful restaurant in th' Plaza."

The Jedi collectively agreed on their hunger. Tristanas borrowed the CorSec holopad to trace a route to a seafood restaurant on the next block over eastward. He marked it using a new yellow dot and pointed at the exact crossroads. Everybeast said their warm-hearted farewells and separated.

"Make sure you eat a full meal, my Apprentices, and you have all your gear together." Larring reminded his Jedi Knights. "After this, we're going home."


	9. Return of the Swoop Gangs

Inside the seafood diner, the three Jedi sat eagerly in silver repulsor chairs at a circular gray steel table. They held metal utensils as their ordered seafood dishes were laid before them. The hectic movement of the day and the constant traveling had caused them to sorely neglect their appetites. Now, the chance of a full-fledged meal lay before them.

Larina sliced up a roasted trout and baked lettuce in pure tomato sauce; two smaller dishes of sweet potatoes and steamed white rice sat on either side of her plate. She bit into the thin fish, humming happily at the heavenly taste that warmed her mouth. Her bright hazel eyes opened to see her fellow Jedi smiling at her. She reciprocated the gesture and drank from a fine plastic cup of ice-cold blue milk.

Larring beheld a pack of shrimp on his plate, glazed in lemon butter and sautéed to perfection, and complemented by grilled scallops and his own steamed rice. He asked Divan to pass him the saltshaker, taking his knife and fork while the male Squirrelan obliged. His beady black eyes widened in amazement as the first glazed salted shrimp thinly layered in sea salt met his tongue. He laughed deep in his throat at such an indescribable taste and washed his food down with a white chocolate latte.

Divan snickered at Larina and passed the saltshaker to Larring. He looked at his own delectable plate of baked salmon garnished by squash, cilantro, and zucchini, and a coleslaw side. Instinctively, he scooped a dainty forkful of the salmon and put it into his mouth. Chestnut-brown eyes closed dreamily, delicate taste buds savored the bite of a fresh and rich fish; although nowhere quite near the level of those found fresh in the jungle rivers of Dantooine. Nevertheless, his awestruck face glowed as radiantly as the luminescent lights illuminating the diner. He gave his kind wholehearted compliments to the chefs and waiters, drinking his horchata to them.

All of a sudden, his body compulsively shuddered in the metal repulsor chair, as if someone had placed a block of ice on the set. Yet this was far beyond anything of the sort.

The Force itself had frozen up. The hollow void left in its place spoke no voice and uttered no words. Something had disrupted and severed the currents of the Force. Divan felt its wavelengths thinning and cracking inside his mind.

 _What just happened?!_ Divan pondered, his oak brown face draining to alabaster white. _I have never felt the Force this distorted since…_

… _since Dxun!_

He closed his eyes once more, pretending to savor the taste of his baked salmon wrapped in raspberry chipotle sauce under a pinch of sea salt. In the privacy of his mind, he descended into the depths of meditation in a futile attempt to grasp whatever threads of the Force remained in its immediate fragmentation. A chill coursed through him a second time, from the tips of his ears to his toes, through his backside to the furs of his bushy Squirrelan tail. The Force, through its enigmatic void, was trying to speak to him. But he could not place what it was saying.

 _Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong in the Force. But what, and why?!_

"Divan?" the voice of Master Larring penetrated the shadows in his mind. "Are you all right?"

Divan opened his eyes to see his Master on his left looking at him in concern. He swiftly collected himself and nodded.

"Yes, Master." He wiped his mouth and chin and took his fork to scoop some coleslaw.

Larring, dubious as to that claim, cleared his throat unassumingly. "Anyway, as I was asking, what are your opinions on what we've done so far?"

Divan absentmindedly turned his other fork over and over in his fingers. "It's been…interesting, to say the least. I don't wholly approve of Tinarandel's actions against the swoop gangs. But I can understand his reasoning as to why he did what he did. He was both defending the citizens of Treasure Ship Row and averting efforts to commit more crimes. That being said, I can hardly condone his vigilante actions to avenge his murdered parents. Revenge is not the Jedi way."

He stopped himself from saying anything else insufferable by stuffing his mouth full of cold coleslaw.

"No, it is not." Larring nodded, agreeing. "But who can blame him? Coronet City considers him a hero. Can we argue that?" He mixed another layer of sea salt over his grilled scallops and popped one into his mouth. Chewing and swallowing, he added. "Tinarandel was guided by his own instincts alone. In his eyes, he did the right thing, the noble thing. A vigilante he may be to us, but a savior he is to Corellia – and at his core, he was still a Jedi." He looked around at the two flanking him, his expression sternly advising.

"Keep this in mind, my children. The past cannot be changed once made. The future can be prevented when the present is altered. Tinarandel made his choices to combat the swoop gangs. Treasure Ship Row – and Coronet City, for that matter – is better for it. It was his decision alone to avenge the murders of his parents. In doing so, he single-pawed saved countless lives. The task is ours now to decide how we react to what has been done. A split-second decision can determine the difference between victory and defeat. Not just on a physical level, but on a mental and emotional one as well. Follow your feelings; follow the Force. Let them show you your paths."

They nodded, and Larring returned to his food.

Divan slumped low in his repulsor chair. "So, have we failed in finding Tinarandel?"

Larring hesitated, wracking his brains for the right words to Divan. "I will say whether we have failed, or whether we have not. I guess the answer lies…" He turned to take a gander at Larina's messenger bag hung across the side of her chair. "…in those holopads. We might be missing something, some other clue to this mystery that we failed to find the first time. This requires further investigation. Tinarandel's holopad strikes my intrigue the most. Those transcribed HoloNet articles aren't the only things on its hard drive, I reckon."

"Before I forget," Divan cast his mind elsewhere. "I…have something to confess…"

His face turned stony and stoic, his chestnut-brown drooping eyes betraying a hint of concealed anxiety. "I felt a most unusual disturbance in the Force a moment ago. A trepidation, for lack of a better word. But I can't pinpoint what it is."

Larring leaned forward in his chair, planting his elbows on the table. "Reach into the Force, Divan. Open your mind. What can you see and feel? What's the closest thing you can understand, as far as your reach goes?"

Divan shut his eyes and retreated into his mental meditation. The ambiance of the diner faded into silence, the physical form collapsing into a void of blackness. His voice echoed through the cloak of shadows in the subconscious corner of his mind.

"I sense approaching darkness. It feels nothing like the Dark Side of the Force. It is dark, yes, but not of the Dark Side. Do you know what I mean?"

He identified their auras as likewise clueless. As he returned to the physical world and reopened his eyes, Larina and Larring gaped at him and at each other in confusion.

"That is indeed unnatural," Larina observed, eating another portion of trout and lettuce. She swallowed and added, "I too have sensed a slight shift in the Force's wavelengths.

"Remain vigilant, my Apprentices!" Larring cautioned, raising his white chocolate latte to his lips. "Something draws very near!"

"Master, if I may so add." Divan raised an interjecting finger. "I have actually been feeling this instability in the Force ever since we landed on Corellia. Whether it is caused by the interactions of the Creatures and Aliens we have met, or the energies of the various places we have visited, or something else, I cannot quite place." He pulled his bowl of coleslaw closer to him and mixed it together. "I hope we can solve this baffling mystery together."

"Then solve it we will!" Larina raised her cup of blue milk to tap against the others' drinks.

* * *

The Jedi left the seafood diner later in high spirits and full bellies.

But the scene that met them outside was not of a similar demeanor.

An enormous crowd of people of Aliens and Creatures was sprinting towards them from the right side, crying and screaming in fright and terror. They dashed and scrambled frantically away in the direction of the Jedi as if trying to escape something. The Jedi dodged to avoid being hit as the crowd passed through them.

"What in the name of the Force is going on?" Larring asked over the noise.

"I don't know!" Larina climbed up a streetlight pole and tried to look over the massive crowd. "I can't see anything!"

Divan hopped aside as a green-skinned female Twi'lek tripped on the concrete sidewalk and slid toward him. He caught her at the last second and pulled her upwards. "What's going on, miss?"

"Run for your lives, Jedi!" The Twi'lek's face was one of pure horror. "It's the _swoop gangs_!" She pushed Divan aside and scampered rapidly away.

The Jedi turned at the sound of whistling turbines, punctuated by battle cries and delirious whooping.

From out of the darkness of the night, the swoop gangs appeared. They rode on colorful swoop bikes, masked in frightening visages of metal and leather helmets (vaguely resembling the Tusken Raiders of Tatooine) and firing blasters into the air.

Larring growled deep in his throat and turned to his Apprentices. "Both of you get the civilians off the streets! Lock the doors of every building in this sector. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master!" they obeyed simultaneously.

"Looks like we're not going home, after all, Div!"

"We have no other choice, Rina! Let's get everyone to safety!"

As Divan and Larina ran off to obey their orders, Larring stepped out into the middle of the street. He stood in front of the swoop gangs, fists clenched and boots dug into the asphalt.

The swoop gangs swerved their bikes and formed a large circle around the Badger Jedi Master, taunting him through their monstrous masks and shaking their weapons furiously.

 _They want revenge and retribution for what Tinarandel did to their comrades a year ago._ Larring assumed. He looked left and right between the ruthless beings that circled him, his narrowed eyes burning fearlessly. _We mustn't let them have it!_

He removed his lightsaber from his robe, raising it to eye level.

 _Shrroom!_ A twelve-inch emerald-green blade shot out from the main emitter. _Psshoom!_ It was followed by twin six-inch opposable quillons extending from external vents beneath the hilt. The crossguard saber illuminated Cristo Larring's face albino white face in emerald green, his Jedi robe billowing in the heavy evening wind. He assumed a basic stance, his dominant foot forward, blade at hip-height directly in front of his navel and angled upward.

Half of the circle aimed their blasters at Larring. The other half jumped off their swoop bikes and charged towards him, drawing all manner of close combat weapons. With bloodcurdling roars, they opened fire.

Larring threw a horizontal high guard to block a downward slash from a vibrosword. Pushing his spare paw out, he gathered the Force inside himself and plunged his fist hard into the ground.

It exploded in a sudden outward burst of energy and power. The swoop gangs were blown back in every direction from the impact of Larring's Force Repulse. They speedily recovered and charged again.

Larring struck a defensive stance to parry every single slash and cut at moderate vertical angles. At a moment's notice of disorientation, he switched seamlessly to offense and swung his crossguard lightsaber to cleave a number of vibroblades in half. He Force Pushed them away and relented into defense to block blaster bolts.

He pivoted on his heels to his left to deliver a sharp roundhouse kick into the stomach of one gangster. Then he brought his saber down vertically onto its steel spear, breaking it in half.

A sapphire-blue lightsaber broke the darkness behind one side of the circle. Propelled by Force Speed, the figure wielding it barreled through the enemy circle in a blue blur. Divan bolted right beside his Master to deliver a series of hacking cleaves and power blows in Form Five, Djem-So.

He knocked one of them flat on its backside. When the gangster sprang back up, Larring drove one of his lightsaber quillons deep into its shoulder. It cried out from the searing pain of the quillon driving itself under the bone into the shoulder muscle. It reached into its belt to pull out a vibrodagger.

But Larring was already ahead. He retreated on his front foot and flipped his lightsaber in the Disarming Slash, cutting the dagger blade clean off its hilt. The gang member had one moment to stare dumbfounded at his broken knife…before being Pushed far off the street.

Divan held his lightsaber high above his head angled diagonally downward. He mustered all his strength and brought down a crushing overhead power blow. His aggression easily incapacitated two swoop gang members – the Falling Avalanche was not a move to be trifled with. The Apprentice switched into the other variant and deflected blaster bolts into their senders' bodies, careful not to kill them.

A swoop bike on their right suddenly collapsed in a fragmented wreck to the ground. Its engine was lacerated into pitiful pieces by a vibrant windmill. A purple saberstaff whirled through the air into the shadows. The twin blades illustrated the somersaulting body of Larina catching it from above. She mixed her deadly acrobatic saberstaff attacks with various forms of dynamic martial arts, leaping to kick and knee several enemies in the face to clear her way. Landing from a frontflip on Divan's right (Larring's left), she ducked to avoid a new flurry of blaster bolts.

"Split them up!" Larring ordered his Apprentices. "Scatter them across this area! We'll be outnumbered if we take the entire army here!"

Larina reopened the seafood diner to leave her messenger bag on a silver repulsor chair. Outside, she jumped onto the side of an adjoined skyscraper. Aided by the Force, she ran horizontally along the wall in the direction of Axial Park, taking great care not to step on any doors, windows, ladders, or external air-conditioning units.

Divan pushed away a spear and crouched directly under the wielder's left elbow, standing and hitting his own elbow to the back of its head and then sweeping his leg to trip it under the ankles. He tapped into his Force Speed and burst into an astonishing sprint down the sidewalk due westward. He and Larring would draw half of the swoop gangs to Treasure Ship Row.

* * *

 **Treasure Ship Row**

While Larring helped Feslar Kehamm secure the apartment complex, Divan held off the enemy swarm, pressed up against the bolted glass doors of the building, He held his dominant leg back, switched from standard to reverse grip, and punched with both his fist and the rounded pommel of his lightsaber.

One gangster standing in the street spied Divan through the scope of his blaster carbine. It lined the Jedi in its sights and fired straight through the crosshairs.

The weapon pierced into the Squirrelan's left shoulder and burned an inch into his flesh.

Divan cried out and clutched his left shoulder painfully. His lightsaber fell from his paw and deactivated, rolling down the stairs of the apartment complex. A second blaster shot struck his right shoulder. He collapsed into the arms of his enemies, groaning and holding his cauterized shoulders. They hoisted him over their heads and tossed him clear into the street.

Divan rolled over and over on the asphalt. He landed on his back and lay there, hearing his own labored breathing. The blaster wounds burned in his shoulders. He grasped at them, struggling for breath. His mind was in panic mode, over-electrified and frantic for a solution to the unforeseen threats to his body. Anything to end his pain.

 _Curato salva!_

Divan retreated inside himself and drew deeply on his Force reserves. The Force flowed through his body like a river, pulsing in his blood and flushing out the heat from the blaster shots. It ebbed his pains away and soothed his shoulders. Until proper medical help was made available, the _Control_ technique of _curato salva_ would sustain him for now.

Enveloping himself in his Force aura, Divan rolled onto his stomach, planted his palms on the street, and pushed himself awkwardly to his feet. He tripped backward a couple of feet but regained his balance quickly.

He harnessed more of his reserves to numb his body further from the hot pain. Reaching out, his lightsaber flew into his palm. The sapphire-blue blade once again extended from the emitter, a stark contrast to his hickory-brown fur.

He could feel the Force revitalizing him. It prompted him to wait. Reinforcements had come.

"Divan!"

"Larina!"

Larina was yet again running on the side of a skyscraper, holding her saberstaff behind her at an angle and accelerating through the furious evening winds. She pounced off a defunct air-conditioning unit and hurled herself into the air. She spun her saberstaff above her head as fast as helicopter blades and slammed between the swoop bikes parked in front of the apartment, slicing their handles and engines in half.

Director Tristanas appeared from behind the ruined swoop bikes with over five dozen armored CorSec Agents at his heels. He kicked the pieces aside and shouted orders to his agents.

"Gundark, Sarlaac and Rancor units, defen' th' Jedi! Activate yer energy shields! Form a barricade! Tactical Response Team, take yar vantage points an' snipe those Force-forsaken monsters!"

The Gundark, Sarlaac and Rancor Squads of CorSec activated their spherical deflector shields around Divan, Larina, and their comrades. They crouched behind the debris of the swoop bikes. The Tactical Response Team climbed onto window perches, rain gutters, and balconies, where they calibrated their specialized sniper rifles and thermal scopes.

"Set your rifles t' kill!" Tristanas ordered, standing beside Sarlaac Squad.

"Sixty-five of us," the male Rodian leader of Rancor Squad calculated. "And one hundred-and-three of them."

"Sixty an' one 'undred?" Tristanas waved his paw in a signal. "I like those odds. Weapons free!"

The three squads of CorSec opened full fire. The regrouped swoop gangs retaliated. Flurries of blaster bolts bounced harmlessly off the energy shields.

Larring repelled any invaders who came too close to the shields. Then he beckoned his Apprentices to his sides. The three of them stood outside the barricade. Their lightsabers glowed emerald, purple, and sapphire in the night.

"Come on!" Larring rallied the Squirrelans. "For Corellia! For the Jedi!" He led the storm, swinging his crossguard saber from side to side and slapping blaster bolts to the ground.

Four charged Larring with steel spears. He reflexively swept his crossguard saber in the wide Sarlaac Sweep. The main blade decapitated the spearheads while the quillons grazed harmlessly through the gangsters' heavy body armor. Before they had a chance to react, Larring used a basic Shii-Cho horizontal slash to disarm them. He then unleashed a rapid series of diagonal strikes at six others coming his way. Three were disabled by himself, two slain by CorSec's TRT snipers, and the last knocked unconscious by the kickboxing Larina.

Divan had stayed behind, using the Barrier of Blades and Shien Deflection maneuvers in coordinated tandem to protect his allies, buying them time to recharge their shields. He ignored the damages in his shoulders. The pain slipped back into his nerves, but he once more called upon the Force to ease it to a bearable extent. He fought those who broke past the others in single combat, parrying the vibroswords and counterstriking effectively in the Fluid Riposte. The Force indeed was guiding him, as it guided the others.

Larina broke away from Larring and jumped from bike to bike, flipping, and spinning. She vaulted herself from a driver's seat into the furious Hawk-Bat Swoop. A dozen enemies below split their group down the middle in fear. Larina landed on her feet and kicked the two closest to her right in the noses of their Tusken Raider-esque masks.

An armored foot hit her thoracic spine, causing her to buck forwards and lose her grip on her saberstaff. The pair grabbed her and pushed her hard up against a metal wall, holding her wrists in tight iron grips. Her assailant from behind drew a vibroblade and held it to her furry neck. She winced as it clipped a few hairs from and nicked the surface layer of her throat.

Instinctively, she Pushed her captors aside, summoned her saberstaff, and severed her would-be killer's arm below the elbow.

The gangster recoiled, howling and holding the stump of its arm. The actual limb itself lay helplessly on the ground. Larina lunged into the Saber Swarm to force her opponents into defensive postures. In the distraction, the TRT promptly sniped them through the head. Clutching her neck, Larina tapped into her special power of Force Heal to close the knife wound and regrow the shaved fur.

Tristanas shouldered his stun rifle, pulled dual blaster pistols from his belt and spun them on his thumbs. He slew a trio of gangsters on his every side in three smooth arm movements.

Five of the swoop gang members tried to sneak around the CorSec formation and ascend the stairs to the apartment complex. They used an enforcer ram to break the doors open.

"Director!" the Weasel leader of the Gundark Squad got Tristanas' attention. "They've breached the apartment!"

"Feslar!" Tristanas hurried after them.

During the chaos, Feslar had taken cover under his concierge desk. He held an activated electrobaton in his hands. When the swoop gangs reached the desk, he jumped out from behind and lunged at them with his electrical weapon, scattering electric bolts everywhere. But when he pulled himself back for a full-strength vertical attack, one of them threw their heel into his stomach and pushed him to the floor. The electro-baton shut off and landed on the lobby floor, out of reach. The gangsters grabbed the Iktotchi by his arms, wrenched him violently into the center of the lobby, and readied their weapons to kill him.

Feslar closed his eyes and braced himself for the end.

Quintuple blaster shots rang out and hit the gangsters square in the chest. Feslar heard the falling of corpses on the floor.

The Iktotchi opened his eyes and turned to see Tristanas standing at the threshold holding his fired blaster rifle. The Dormouse lowered it and walked over to help Feslar to his feet.

"Ya all righ'?"

Feslar was breathing in and out heavily from the sudden near-death experience. "Yes…Yes, Director. I'm…I'm all right. Th-thank you."

Tristanas nodded to Feslar. "Don't worry. Ya're safe now. The Jedi an' my agents are takin' care o' everythin'. Ya an' yar tenants don't need t' be afraid anymore."

Feslar nodded, grumbling with antagonistic hatred. "No one shall die tonight on my watch. Not like Elémir and Norith died."

"We will ensure what happened t' Elémir and Norith never happens again t' anybody else, Feslar." Tristanas passed the Iktotchi his electro-baton. "Th' same way Tinarandel did. Do ya thin' they'll try t' break inta 'is old apartment?"

Feslar shook his horned head. "I doubt it. Tinarandel has more protections there than just that electronic four-digit lock. He was always smarter than he looked and put his intelligence to its greatest extensive use. Comes from the gift of the Force, I guess. That's why Master Larring and his Apprentices got lucky." The Iktotchi determinedly gripped his activated baton. It erratically crackled and sparked blue electricity. "You lead and I'll follow, Director."

Outside, Feslar re-bolted his doors then joined Gundark Squad. Tristanas rejoined the others.

Tristanas raised his blaster rifle high in the air. "Agents of CorSec! Jedi of Dantooine! Let us end the tyranny of the swoop gangs of Corellia, once and for all! _Charge!"_

The three Squads split the energy barriers into individual shields and rallied into a straight-line formation. With unanimous battle cries, Director Tristanas, Feslar Kehamm, and the CorSec agents led the final charge into the ranks of the swoop gangs. The Jedi of Dantooine bolted hot on the heels of the Gundark Squad. The Tactical Response Teams jumped down from their perches, switched their snipers into default rifle mode, and pushed behind the Jedi.

CorSec slammed into the swoop gangs with absolute ferocity. Taken completely by surprise, the gangs frantically pointed their spears and vibroblades outwards.

The CorSec squads knelt down and planted their shields into the ground. In unison, they raised their blasters and fired barrage after barrage at the enemy. The TRT separated from the Jedi and joined their kin at the plasma barricade. Tristanas stood behind and directed volleys with his squad leaders.

Feslar charged headlong with the Jedi and stabbed his electro-baton into the torso of the first gangster in his path. It shook violently from the electrocution and slumped to the ground, twitching and writhing. Feslar threw his arms out to the side and tripped two more, punching one and tasing the other.

Larina flung her saberstaff into a wild horizontal spin. It whirled forwards and cut through the gang members' weapons. She side-flipped as it came spinning back towards her and caught it by the connected pommels. Upon touchdown, she pressed a button to separate the conjoined pommels into a pair of separate sabers and helped Feslar against a trio armed with vibrolongswords.

Divan attacked, parried, and counterattacked in unpredictable sequences of blocks and ripostes. No more restrained passivity, Divan knew; only brute strength needed to win the battle. He blocked with acute precision and redirected blows in wide powerful strikes. He streaked from enemy to enemy faster than they could blink with his mastery of Force Speed. A full set of ten gangsters lay heavily wounded by his sapphire-blue lightsaber.

Larring released himself into the flowing currents of the Force. He became more random with his crossguard lightsaber, aiming to incapacitate those who came near him. His technique was akin to water flowing down forest falls.

He closed his eyes and relaxed into a meditative trance, reaching far out through the Force to touch the minds of his fellow combatants. He connected his mind with theirs to pour the essence of the Force into them, boosting their stamina, morale, and battle abilities through the power of Battle Meditation.

In spite of the inferior numbers, with newfound resolve vested in them by the Force, Larring knew they would win.

When the shields discharged, the CorSec squads charged, the leaders at the fore and the Director in the wake, armed with tasers and batons. They felt Larring's motivation in their minds, although they didn't mostly understand it. Yet, the palpable flames in their adrenaline gave them confidence and a hope of victory.

The relentless triple assaults and the meteoric dwindling of their numbers compelled the swoop gangs into a mass retreat. They turned tail and fled down the streets, sidewalks, and into back alleys and against the doors of large buildings.

Tristanas saw this and called out to the others. "We've got 'em on th' run! Drive 'em outta th' Blue Sector! Arrest any who surrender an' kill those who resist!"

CorSec broke formation at the intersection of the Business Sector. Feslar and the Rancor and Sarlaac Squads stormed the back alleys and gathered at least thirty stragglers. Feslar held his electro-baton to their throats. The Jedi held their lightsabers to the backs of the other twelve apprehended as Gundark Squad led them away. Tristanas and his Tactical Response Team shot every last one that resisted arrest.

"Director," the leader of Rancor Squad asked Tristanas. "These are all that are left."

Tristanas slung his blaster rifle over his shoulder and nodded. "It's over. It's finally over now." He took a few seconds to catch his breath. "Send 'em t' CorSec Maximum Security Prison. Tactical Response Team an' me are goin' t' dispose o' the dead."

* * *

 **CorSec Headquarters**

At long last, Coronet City was cleansed of the terrorism of the swoop gangs. The work Tinarandel had begun a year ago, CorSec and the Jedi completed a year later.

Tristanas and Feslar looked on as the Jedi cared for the wounded of CorSec. The Rancor and Sarlaac Squads had been cared for earlier, as they were assigned to deliver the remnants to the CorSec Maximum Security Prison.

By a blessed combination of the will of the Force, organized strategic thinking, and outright determination and perseverance, and sheer luck, all sixty-five CorSec agents survived.

Tristanas went over to Larring, who was standing to his feet. "I'll come righ' out an' say it, Master Larrin'. CorSec owes th' Jedi an unpayable debt."

"As do I," Feslar added, standing in front of the computer table. "I think Tinarandel would be proud of you and what you achieved tonight. The spirits of Elémir and Norith can both rest in peace now knowing what has been done here on the streets of Coronet City tonight. Even my own brother, Tandover Kehamm, who was also slain a year ago, I pray his spirit is also in repose. Their killers are vanquished and imprisoned themselves. I hope that they feel they are avenged."

Larring nodded solemnly at Tristanas and gave Feslar a modest smile. "We are the Jedi, simply doing our job. We are the guardians of peace and justice in the Galaxy. Coronet City languished under the criminality of the swoop gangs for too long. They took advantage of Tinarandel's disappearance from Corellia to rebuild their numbers and strike back when the time was right. Somehow, word of our presence here on your world spread to them, and they decided to seize the moment. The stars had aligned for them, I suppose. Now they are no more. Their ruthlessness shall trouble Coronet City no longer. Neither of you must pay a debt to us."

Tristanas nodded considerately. "Aye, I understan'. Ye may 'ave not been 'ere when Corellia bled durin' th' Mandalorian Wars. But you were 'ere t' prevent th' reopenin' o' old wounds, an' th' infliction o' new ones. I knew ye'd show yer strength sooner or later. No more bleeding on Corellia anymore."

Larring exhaled anxiously. His muzzle fell into a despondent frown and his ears drooped. "So much death and violence and madness…We saw enough of that in the Mandalorian Wars. Duro, Althir, Onderon, Dxun, Malachor…I lost count of the planets a long time ago. Numerous of our brethren we lost on the battlefields, kindred Jedi we loved and adored and admired, and whose lives were snuffed out in an instant by the Mandalorians. We want no more of either."

Feslar came abreast of Tristanas. "You're not the only one who feels that way, Master Larring. This peace is what we strive for every single day."

"Righ'," Tristanas pointed his thumb at the Iktotchi in agreement. "CorSec are enforcers o' the law an' preservers o' th' peace. We protect an' serve th' citizens."

"And the Jedi protect and serve the Galaxy as a whole," Larring concluded. He looked over at Divan and Larina, still busy using Force Heal to treat the Agents. "I want to create a better Galaxy to live in. I want my Apprentices to have the luxury of better, happier, and more successful lives. There is nothing that can impede my goals. Here on Corellia, these goals begin to take form."

Divan and Larina looked over at the Badger and smiled kindly at him. He smiled and nodded humbly back, his eyes twinkling like stars in the night.

Tristanas ran a paw of relief through his hair. "I don't know about ya, but I feel this calls for a celebration."

For the first time in over a year, Feslar laughed genuinely and heartily. "Yes, I agree! I just thought of a certain charming cheap cantina in the Blue Sector on the outskirts of Treasure Ship Row. Myself and my employees at the complex frequent it every other weekend. We're regular customers there, so to speak. Would you be interested in that, Master Larring, and your Apprentices? Drinks and meals are on me."

Larring noticed the Squirrelans come up on either side of him. He wrapped his arms around and held them close to his body. "You know what, Mr. Kehamm? I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. After everything that's happened today, everyone deserves a break."

* * *

 **Smitt Landry Cantina, Blue Sector**

The Smitt Landry Cantina was one of the most prominent cantinas in the Blue Sector, and for good reason. If the apartment workers at Treasure Ship Row had never dedicated to frequenting it, then it may never have exhibited its aura of popularity that it did. Or it may not have become popular at all.

Tristanas, Feslar, and the Jedi shared one table, and the CorSec Teams shared a second.

Tristanas packed away the CorSec holopad in Larina's bag. "I've just sent word t' th' _Ixion_. They know t' wait fer ye before leavin' fer Christophsis."

Feslar placed a food tray on the table and passed out dishes and drinks. He sat down on Tristanas' left and took his wheat ale. "Master Larring, you impressed me tonight. I never took you for such a furious fighter. I honestly thought of you as more of a diplomat, given your clever ways of turning a phrase."

Larring shook his head and held his spirit-free hickory daiquiri. He patted the crossguard saber in his robes. "I don't judge you for thinking of me as a diplomat, Mr. Kehamm. Diplomacy and the work of a Jedi Consular have never suited me. I prefer to be out on the front lines in battle, right in the heat of it. I could never talk down the swoop gangs even if I possessed the means to do so. The Jedi do not negotiate with terrorists. We tried negotiating with the Mandalorians, and…" The Badger shrugged over his baked dru'un slices in fish sauce. "Well, we know how that turned out."

"I must say all of you have more than proven yourselves tonight," Feslar looked over and nodded at Divan and Larina. "I stand in awe of your battle prowess and capabilities in the Force."

"We at CorSec greatly value strategy an' tactics," Tristanas added, sipping his glass of cold cinnamon orange cider. "Yar tactical shrewdness an' strategic wit astounds me. Truly, I applaud ya for such astonishingly magnificent displays o' courage, persistence, an' darin' against th' swoop gangs. CorSec will forever remember th' Jedi o' Dantooine as its greatest allies an' defenders."

Feslar swallowed his bite of veg'meat. "Forcespeed home, Jedi. May you find your worth in the Galaxy, and may you achieve your desired success in establishing tranquility wherever it is needed. Of course, I grant you my sincerest wishes in finding Tinarandel, too, wherever he has gone. I ask one last favor of you: please do not be foreigners. My apartments are open to you anytime should they be needed, for lodging and rent."

Tristanas raised his cider in the air. "An' should ya ever fin' yerselves in dire straits anywhere on Corellia, an' if th' Force should somehow fail ya, call on CorSec. Our wrath shall descen' on those who oppress ya. A toast, my friends, t' Corellia!"

Feslar added his wheat ale. "A toast to CorSec and Coronet City!"

Larring held up his daiquiri. Divan and Larina followed suit with their spirit-free black velvet cocktail and ice-cold blue milk, respectively. "A toast to Dantooine, and to the Jedi!"


	10. The Dantooine Jedi

**Dantooine, Jedi Enclave**

The Dantooine Enclave was one of the most prestigious academies of the Jedi Order in the entire Galaxy, second in prominence and renown only to the famed grand Temple on Coruscant. It is a proud monument of the Force and the Jedi, unmistakably distinguishable by the giant stone masonry fin-shaped structures encircling the main buildings.

It overlooked Dantooine's Khoonda river plains to the northeast, where all of its foot traffic gathered in and out of Enclave, connected by the small courtyard to the east wings of the building. On the south side of the central building lay the long roofless oval-shaped landing platform, adorned in six masonry fins on its exterior.

Having experienced a curious decline in passengers from Christophsis, the _Ixion_ skipped its routine layover at Ryloth and effectively cut the approximated flight time in half. After an hour of a layover on Coruscant, the three Jedi boarded the _Bevington_ , the only spacecruiser in the Core Worlds swift enough to contest the fantastic speed of its Corellian "cousin".

The Jedi now sat on stone benches spaced around the Enclave's giant circular planter beneath the cool comforting shade of a perennial ash tree with their kindred in the Order. They feasted heartily on fish freshly caught straight from the outback rivers beyond the academy, and related the entire tale of their mission on Corellia to the others, who listened intently without judgment or expectations.

Larring looked on with pride and amusement as Divan and Larina performed a blow-by-blow reenactment of their ferociously intense encounter with the ruthless Corellian swoop gangs. They explained their unified alliance with the forces of CorSec and even the Property Manager of Treasure Ship Row to take them down once and for all. Their comrades watched them with rapt attention and awestruck expressions. Larring temporarily left his bench to fill in his side of the story about protecting himself and Divan before Larina returned with CorSec.

Divan stood on the planter under the perennial ash tree and assumed a heroic pose. He raised his deactivated lightsaber hilt high in the air, dramatically imitating Director Tristanas' call to make their final charge word for word. Larring laid out the coordinated formation in which they stormed the enemy ranks. Larina elaborated on every single lightsaber technique they employed to force the swoop gangs into retreat. They told of how Tristanas shot down five gangsters one after another to save Feslar Kehamm. The Knights and Masters were collectively captivated. When the telling was over, the other Jedi enthusiastically acclaimed the courageous Master and Apprentices trio.

Divan touched his left shoulder as he stepped down from the planter. The blaster wound had long since faded away from the combination of his _curato salva_ ability and his adeptness in Force Healing. He was able to touch his fur now without feeling the seething burns on his skin. It relieved and relaxed him immensely.

Larina showed the healed spot on her neck where the gangster with the vibroblade had almost cut beneath her skin. She indicated the shaved fur and how her Force Heal had regrown it. They, especially the female members of the group, gasped in horror as they felt the former wound, being very delicate in handling Larina's neck fur and showing their genuine relief at her safety.

After the debriefing, the Knights expressed their heartfelt sympathies.

"Don't feel bad about not findin' Tinarandel," Grundlink, a black-and-white Rat sitting on the planter, comforted them. "Ye can learn a whole lot from failure. Don't let it get ye down. Some things are just beyond our control, ye know? Ye've only got t' stan' back up an' try harder th' next time aroun'! Look on th' upside: ye saved an entire city from a domestic terrorist group that's plagued it for who knows how many standard years! How many Dantooine Jedi can say they've done _that_ , eh?"

A male Kel Dor Jedi, Plu Sachuk, placed an empathetic paw on Larina's shoulder and entreated her through his helium breathing gear. "I sense something is troubling you, young Larina. Is everything calm in your mind?"

Larina opened her mouth as if to answer, but her voice was reluctant. She instead patted the Kel Dor's hand to ease his worries. "Yes, I'm fine, Plu. I'm sorry. But this is something I must keep to myself."

Plu Sachuk hesitated for a moment, then removed his hand. "I understand, Larina. If you need anyone to talk to, you can come to me."

Isozru, a female green-skinned Mirialan sitting on Divan's right, popped a black grape into her mouth. "Listen, both of you. Just because you failed in one part of your quest doesn't imply that you'll do the same at the rest of it. All you need do is keep trying. Perhaps there is something you haven't considered yet, some piece of the puzzle you're missing; or some small clue to the larger mystery you've overlooked. Don't give up. The Force is still speaking to you. You only have to…listen to it." She tapped their furry foreheads and smiled. "What you accomplished on Corellia, against the swoop gangs and performing an immeasurable act of service that will be heralded for standard years to come; that's what you should focus your thoughts and energy on!"

But Divan shook his head in dismay. "I can't believe it. I can't believe that there is still more to this enigma than we previously thought. There is no more to be found. We've done everything, searched everywhere, and found nothing but a holopad and HoloNet news transcriptions."

His fellows hummed and shook their heads in disagreement, including Larina.

"You're no failures, none of you." a female sea-blue-skinned Faleen Jedi Sentinel named Fassal Gumiss reminded them. "You two are the best of our generation of Jedi Knights. Remember Onderon? How you two saved our butts in battle, _twice_?! We owe you both a great debt."

"Yes," Plu bent his head in gratitude. "Noble and selfless warriors such as yourselves mustn't despair. Such pessimism will get you nowhere. Trust in the Force, continually, and it shall direct your paths. Please do not give up. There is still more to be done, you'll see!"

Larina leaned over and put her paws on Divan's shoulders. "We can do this, Divan. We'll bring Tinarandel back to the Light. He'll come home."

On the opposite side of the courtyard, Larring sat with his fellow Jedi Masters.

"So, Cristo." the female Selonian Master Chuta Baé prompted him. "You said you and your Apprentices found something of…special interest, for want of a better word, in Tinarandel's apartment on Corellia?"

"Yes, Master Baé. We did." Larring verified. He neglected his pond trout and proceeded to elaborate in laconic detail about the discoveries at Treasure Ship Row.

Chuta extended her claws and scratched her fur-covered chin thoughtfully. "An evocative act indeed and violently unorthodox on the part of Tinarandel. In any case, the Council will want to hear about it, Cristo."

"You haven't a choice," the male Nautolan Master Zasserreh Bimparr added, peering rather pointedly at the Badger with his large dark maroon eyes, almost as if scrutinizing him. "You never know. This might change our fortunes, perhaps influence the chances of finding Tinarandel, for better or for worse."

"We won't know until we try, I reckon." As Larring drank his water, his ears twitched at the sounds of his Apprentices' voices.

"Master," Divan told him. "Larina wanted to let you know that we will be hanging out with the others at the Khoonda Plains."

"You go on," Larring granted his permission. "I'll meet you there after I report to the Council."

The Knights filed out of the courtyard in an eager herd. As soon as they were out of sight, Larring finished his fish, put his empty plate aside, stood up from the stone bench, and began pacing around the courtyard.

"What do we do now?" the Badger anxiously asked himself, pacing back and forth in front of the ash tree, his paws behind his back and his muzzle low. He knew the other Masters watched his meditative pacing but didn't even care.

"What do I do now? I must set an example for my Apprentices. I cannot give up, not for their sakes nor my own. What next? Where do I look now? What actions do I take from here?"

"Don't give up, Cristo," Zasserreh called after him standing at the exit through which the Knights had only seconds earlier disappeared. "The Force is abundant with answers. You simply have to ask the right questions."

"But what questions, Master Bimparr?" Larring debated to the Nautolan, turning on his heels with a quizzical look on his face. "Please do tell me what I'm missing. After what myself, Divan, and Larina endured on Corellia, after the swoop gangs, surely nothing can surprise us anymore."

"Have you deafened yourself to the voice of the Force, Cristo?" Chuta shamelessly criticized the Badger. "Surely your experiences on Corellia came as a result of your failure to listen to the promptings of the Force? It would have shown you the correct paths to the correct choices to make on Corellia, to lead you to the most beneficial outcomes and results. Yet, it seems you did none of the sorts, and that is why you failed to find Tinarandel on Corellia, and why you'll fail to find him anywhere else."

Larring clenched his fists and bit his lips to keep himself from lashing out in anger at the two other Masters. "And you expect me to just stand passively while Tinarandel drifts further and further away from the grasp of the Jedi? Every single day, the distance between us and him grows ever greater. For what we can speculate, he may be traveling on the outskirts of the Unknown Regions by now, in pursuit of the Dark Side of the Force and its unspeakable mysteries of untold power. You want me to act as though everything is normal? Our inaction and indecision will one day be our undoing." He crossed his arms at them, frowning in displeasure, his whiskers bristling in annoyance.

"Secondly, for your information, I did not deafen myself to the Force. I used my abilities to their fullest to grant strength to my Apprentices and my allies that was needed in order to combat the swoop gangs. Divan and Larina felt their threat coming before I did. Would you dare accuse them of deafness?"

Never had the Masters ever heard such silence so earsplitting. Since neither could answer Larring, they sat back down to finish their food when a new sound drew their attention.

Exiting from a stone bunker came a short male gray-brown Shrew dressed in silver-gray Jedi battle armor over his thick dark brown robe. He tapped the butt of a long maple cane rhythmically on the grassy ground. The others at once stood up from their bench and bowed low.

"Grandmaster Tipuka," Larring addressed the Shrew respectfully.

Grandmaster Tipuka smiled and bade the Badger stand straight. Although seriously short, as was typical of his species, his gray eyes reflected the glittering Dantooine sunlight, standing on his toes to place an encouraging paw on Larring's shoulder. "Welcome 'ome, Cristo. I sense much despondence in ye. I warrant yer mission on Corellia was no success?"

No longer inclined to dishonesty, Larring nodded. "Aye, Grandmaster – I mean, no. I and my Apprentices blundered in our quest for Tinarandel. They have gone to the Khoonda Plains with their fellow Knights. I intended to follow them after I'd finished my meal. But since your appearance, I have had a change of mind. With your permission, Grandmaster, I wish to present my findings to the Council. There is also an incontrovertible matter concerning a harrowing experience that we had that unavoidably must be heard."

Tipuka nodded sympathetically and withdrew his paw, placing it atop the other on the head of his cane. He rapped his fingers on the cane, thinking at nearly the speed of light. Finally, he beckoned his company to follow him into the bunker.

"Let us go to th' Council Chambers. Debrief th' Council, Cristo, beginnin' ta en'."

* * *

 **Jedi Enclave Council Chambers**

"Swoop gangs? On Corellia?"

The male Bothan Jedi Master Vyr Chizil reclined in his tall cushioned silver steel armchair, scratching his chin in confusion. "Homicidal swoop gangs killing innocent civilians in Coronet City? They killed Tinarandel's parents, too? And he avenged them? In a quest for bloody retribution, they returned in their revenge and sought to kill once again?"

Larring, standing in the middle of the Council Chamber, his paws humbly hidden in the sleeves of his robe, nodded respectfully. "Aye, Master Chizil. You are correct in all your questions."

Chizil, having been gratefully answered, nodded, and fell silent.

On the Bothan's right, Safillas the Ottermaid from Manaan raised a paw to inquire. "Why would Tinarandel do such monstrous thin's? Make such an un-Jedi-like choice an' take drastic action th' way 'e did?"

Larring shrugged. "Why must we ask questions that have no answers, Master Safillas? The truth of the matter is not Tinarandel. The truth lies in the former presence of swoop gangs on the planet of Corellia, and their scattered existence across the Galaxy, bringing terror and leaving all manners of violence in their wake. I say former for lack of a better word. The gangs are either exterminated or imprisoned now."

He knew he had to choose his next words carefully.

"Myself, Divan and Larina, Director Tristanas of Corellian Security and his three Squads and Tactical Response Team, and Feslar Kehamm of Treasure Ship Row all defeated them together. I sincerely apologize for our resorting to…non-pacifistic means."

"The fault t'ain't ours, Master Larrin'." Safillas shook her head. "What Tinarandel did completely violates tha Jedi Code. 'E must be brough' back t' Dantooine t' stan' before th' Jedi Council an' answer fer 'is crimes agains' th' Code."

"Crimes for bringing justice where it was needed the most?" Larring unfolded his sleeves and hung his paws down by his sides. The Badger was concealing a scowl, but the Masters saw the faintest portrait of irritation in his face. "He did what he felt was right. Are we, the Jedi of Dantooine, not the guardians of peace and justice to the Galaxy? Are we not supposed to stop oppression and fear and terrorism wherever it may dwell? Those gangs were thugs, terrorists, criminals! Murderers, plunderers, and pillagers! I could go forever with a list of adjectives! The Galaxy is safer without violent oppression! We secured a permanent peace on Corellia that will endure for decades to come!"

"It does not matter, Larring." Master Bimparr leaned forward in his chair on Chizil's left. "Tinarandel is still guilty for disobeying the Jedi Code. We will try him for his defiance. He leaned too close into the precipice of the Dark Side and it consumed his every sense of reason. We only want to pull him back into the glory and the purity of the Light."

"For the last time! That is not our priority at the moment, Zasserreh." Larring argued in a restrained tone bordering on stoic disgust. "You must understand that Tinarandel was desperate and at a loss with what to do with his life. He did what any violated Creature or Alien would do in such situations: he became a vigilante, Corellia's protector, and its hero. I would not drag him back to Dantooine to stand trial before you even if it cost me my own life. Besides…what if he no longer wants the glory and the purity of the Light? What if he fell into the precipice of the Dark Side exclusively of his own volition?

"Does it matter that Tinarandel exacted vengeance on swoop gangs? Is he a criminal like them for doing what he did? Or was he in his right logical mind and rational thinking with the strategy and tactical reasoning of a Jedi? He did leave our Order, and by extension, Dantooine. That is undeniable. Yet he still retained the wit and strength of a Jedi. He was – and still is – revered as Corellia's savior. I cannot deny that; nor can my Apprentices. Are we too at fault for choosing to fight furiously to subdue the gangs' newfangled threats to Coronet City and its established moral civilized society? Would you put Director Tristanas and Feslar Kehamm on trial as well? I will not stand to see such hypocrisy present within these hallowed halls!"

"What do you propose, then, Master Larring?" Chizil asked, dismissively as if trying to distance himself and the Council from any semblance of guilt. "Please, speak your mind."

"Having reached the very end of my patience, I feel I have spoken enough, Vyr." Larring folded his paws back inside his sleeves and gave the Bothan a sour look, sighing in exasperation. "The evidence likewise speaks for itself. Tinarandel is not the issue. Let us forsake conceit and closed-mindedness and turn our attention to the true plight of the Galaxy. Let us focus our energies and efforts on cleansing the Galaxy of these swoop gangs, so that none may suffer the horrific tragedies that Tinarandel and countless others before him have suffered. That is my mind."

"What say you, Grandmaster?" Baé turned to Tipuka. "You've been uncharacteristically quiet so far."

Tipuka was sitting back in his chair, slightly slumping and with his fingers together in a triangle shape across his robed chest. His maple cane lay vertically on the floor beside him. "Larrin' is correct," the Shrew declared. "Tinarandel is outta our grasp. He has been for this past year an' a half, unfortunately. There's nuthin' we can do about him now. But that doesn't mean that we can give up hope."

Tipuka put his paws down on his armrests and looked up at Larring with a kind but noble authority.

"Cristo Larring, ye and yer Apprentices are ta continue yer quest to fin' Tinarandel. Let not yer mistakes an' lack of desired results on Corellia deter ye from findin' tha truth. Whatever traumas may have been inflicted on ye as a result of yer recent combat against tha swoop gangs of Corellia, cast them aside now, for they are in tha past. They are no more a pressin' or pertinent crisis. Wherever Tinarandel is, whatever he is up ta, he must be foun' at all costs. If an' when you return him, tha Council shall decide what is ta be done. Ye must not fail. Do ye understan'?"

Much as Larring wanted to argue, he could only bring himself to nod and bow. "Yes, Grandmaster. I understand."

Tipuka nodded back his approval. "Good. Then this Council is adjourned."

As the Masters filed out of the Chamber, Tipuka took Larring aside. "A private word wit' ye, Cristo."

They later stood atop a low grassy stone balcony overlooking the south end of the Plains. Below them, the group of Jedi Knights either sat under the shade of a fully-grown oak tree or dipped their feet into the serene flowing rivers in the background. Larina and Divan were bathing in the riverbanks.

Tipuka and Larring shared a bowl of roasted chestnuts and watched the relaxing Knights from their perch. The Shrew lightly tapped the butt of his cane on the grass underfoot decorating the stone, a thinking habit of his. After a full wordless minute, he turned to Larring with empathy.

"Such incomprehensible acts o' rage Tinarandel performed on Corellia. I shudder ta think what tha swoop gangs might've done in retaliation had ye three not been there ta stop 'em. I see why ye reacted th' way ye did ta Tinarandel. This was not like him in tha slightest. Never even durin' tha Wars did he display such explosive tendencies. These facts do vex me greatly, I ain't ashamed ta confess."

"We still did not find him," the crestfallen Larring sighed. His ears drooped with hopelessness. "I know you depended on us, Grandmaster, as did the entire Order."

"We did depen' on ye, Cristo." Tipuka popped another cashew into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "But circumstances occurred simply beyon' yer control, as some are made ta be. Did ye expect ta fin' tha news on Tinarandel's vigilante actions against tha swoop gangs? Did ye expect them ta make their dramatic retributive return? No, ye did not expect either, an' yet, there they are." His eyes moved not a centimeter from Larring's as he took another chestnut.

"But I want ye ta understan' somethin', Cristo. Failure is only in yar perspective. Any Jedi worth their Dantooine grass knows that. Divan an' Larina may feel that they failed. In reality, they have not, an' neither have ya. Much as ye may choose ta believe, so is tha reality oftentimes exactly tha opposite. All ye need do now is take tha first step into tryin' again. Take tha initiative ta try a different approach."

"So…that's it?" Larring growled in his chest irritably. "We give up? Just like that?"

"I never said ta give up, did I?" Tipuka gently chastened Larring. He pressed the head of his cane into the Badger broad chest. "I'm sorry, I should've spoken plainer. I suggested ye give up on lookin' at yer problem from one perspective, an' learn ta view it from another."

Tipuka rapped his cane on the ground and stared far out across the plains, lost in thought.

"Tinarandel was indeed meant to be the best of us," Larring commented, nibbling on his last pawful of chestnuts. "Remember the Second Battle of Althir? He was the first to charge into battle. Even before that, he used his Force Cloak to sneak past enemy lines and strike the Mandalorians unawares. On his initiative, without orders."

"Graduated top o' his Clan, too," Tipuka added, putting the empty bowl on the ground. "He studied an' mastered both Soresu an' Force Cloak in only two an' one-half years…He must be found, Cristo. Foun' an' taken home where he belongs." Tipuka stomped his cane hard on the stone to emphasize the seriousness of his words. "There can be no contendin' against this. Tinarandel must be returned ta tha Jedi. I promise ye we shall welcome him wit' open hearts an' arms."

"But what are we supposed to do now, Grandmaster?" Larring furrowed his brow and scratched his muzzle. "I don't understand where we are to go from here."

"Do as I said," Tipuka winked and turned on his heel. He picked up the bowl in his other paw. "Take my advice. Somethin' might happen if ye put yer min' ta it. Good day."

The Shrew descended the stone staircase from the balcony to the entrance of a bunker. Larring rushed to the top of the stairs to call after him.

"Wait, Grandmaster! What do I do? Tell me what to do!"

"Follow yer feelings, Cristo!" the Shrew called back over his shoulder. "The Force shall show ye tha way!"

Tipuka disappeared into the stone bunker that led back to the Enclave, leaving Larring alone on the balcony, feeling defeated.

* * *

 **Khoonda Plains, Dantooine Outback**

At the bottom of the stairs, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply the fresh pure thin air of the outback. He'd missed such cleanness and healthy oxygen during his time on the industrialized and mechanical Corellia. The hot air of the Dantooine summer clashing with the cool breeze blowing from the nearby river created a calming relaxing contrast in the Badger's body. Larring exhaled peacefully and opened his eyes, and began making his way to the riverbank to join the Knights.

Larina stood up at the sight of his approach, drying her nape with a towel. "Master, I wanted to ask. Where are Masters Vrook Lamar, Kavar, and Zez-Kai Ell? Divan and I were hoping to see them here."

"Bpfassh," Grundlink answered with a disapproving shake of his head. "Somethin' about a search for an ancient Jedi Praexum there. Th' details are quite foggy. They never talked too much about it. I only heard about it by eavesdroppin' on their hushed whispers. They just up an' went without a trace while ye guys were on Corellia. Th' current Council is actin' in their stead."

"Bpfassh?" Divan standing behind Larina scratched his chin musingly. "Could that be perhaps where Tinarandel has gone? If he wanted to do something else with the Jedi, or perhaps form his Order? That's a real shame that the Masters aren't here. I do pray they're safe."

"That's a wild theory of Tinarandel, Div," Larring countered, seating himself cross-legged under the oak tree. "Difficult to support. We must take great care of how we speak of the Dark Side in this sacred place. It will bring us all bad luck."

"But we couldn't find him on Corellia, either, Master." Larina reminded the Badger. She passed the towel to Divan and folded her arms thoughtfully. "Where else is the most logical place to look aside from his homeworld?"

"No one knew where Tinarandel disappeared to after he spent a year on Corellia, remember?" Larring brought the concrete fact to mind. "Not Tristanas, not Feslar; not even the general populace of Coronet City found any evidence of where he went. He knew how to cover his tracks well. The task is left to us to sort out the pieces of the mystery, Rina."

"After our conflict with the swoop gangs," Divan shuddered as he hung the towel on a low oak branch. "I never want to go back to Corellia again, even if it is our homeworld." His two traveling companions both nodded in wholehearted agreement.

Larring stretched his legs out in relaxation and leaned flat against the oak tree, putting his arms paws contently behind his head. A certain light brown Ferret wearing a khaki shirt and breeches came over to him. He had a black mask-like fur covering on his face and held his dark brown robe over his shoulder to keep cool in the summer heat.

He sat down beside the Jedi Master and folded his robe in his lap. "Afternoon, Master Larring."

Larring kindly smiled and nodded at the Ferret, a Jedi Consular like himself. "Good afternoon, Fernleaf. I hope you're doing well. I didn't see you at lunch."

"Very well indeed, thank you, Master Larring." Fernleaf nodded back gratefully. "I'm sorry for what happened on Corellia. I was truly praying that Tinarandel would be there and that you would be able to return him home to Dantooine." He fidgeted with a green oak leaf on the ground, thinking deeply. "Your Apprentices told me the details of your mission. I was researching neutral worlds of the Force. I wanted to try to pin down the most likely worlds Tinarandel may have traveled to after he disappeared from Corellia."

"That is very dedicated of you, Fernleaf." Larring admirably complimented the inquisitive Jedi scholar. "It is like Tinarandel to seek out worlds rich in the Force. Perhaps those of the Light? But where? There are too many to consider."

"Maybe it's because we're looking in the wrong place." Fernleaf tilted his head to one side and scratched his scalp, pondering. "Tython? If Tinarandel wanted to discover the Force in its purest form, then Tython is the place to go. But even that seems most unlikely. What about Coruscant?"

Fernleaf straightened his head and moved his paw down to his chin. "Nah, that's impossible. If he abandoned the Jedi of Dantooine, he'll abandon them of Coruscant, too. Same doctrines, same ideologies, same teachings, same concepts of the Force. It's no wonder he became so disaffected with us. If we failed him, they'll fail him, too."

"Pardon my interjection," Isozru stood in front of them, raising a thoughtful finger. "But wasn't there a Jedi Tower on Taris once upon a time?"

"That's right!" Fernleaf snapped his claws. "You're right, Isozru! Perhaps Tinarandel went to Taris to try to find that Jedi Tower? A different sense of the Force may dwell there, it's probable!"

"We can sit here all day and write out a list of possibilities late into the night, Fernleaf." Larring sighed and put his face in his paws. "We'll never make any headway, no matter how many ideas we come up with."

"We must at least try," Fernleaf entreated the Jedi Master. "How about Alpheridies, the other school for the Force mystics? Although I can't ever imagine Tinarandel ever wanting to do anything like that. Mysticism never was his type."

"I remember Tinarandel telling me once a few standard years ago about his interest in becoming a healer after graduating from the Enclave," Plu Sachuk proposed, standing against the tree, his arms folded casually. "His siblings told me the same thing. So, he definitely would've gravitated to the academies on Rhinnial or H'ratth to learn the healing arts of the Force. What if he stuck to that dream – and maybe even fulfilled it? When he lost his loved ones on Dxun, might he have become determined to heal wounds of every kind and ensure no other suffered as he did?"

"Yet he was of the Guardian rank, too." Fernleaf debated matter-of-factly, pointing at the Kel Dor. "It's not far off to guess that he joined the academy at Socorro." Unoffended, Plu shrugged it off.

"Come off it already!" Divan grumbled and stared at the group with a rather unnecessary amount of dubiety. "We're going nowhere with this!"

"Divan is right," Larina agreed, wrapping her brown Jedi robe around herself under the shade of the oak tree. "Too much to think about. We're just wasting our time."

"Who's to say Tinarandel did continue to pursue the Light Side of the Force?" Fernleaf suggested, laying his paws in his lap and looking up at the other with a serious expression. "What if…he's already turned away from it? What if – and I hate to mention it again – he has already turned over to the Dark Side, and decided instead to quest after the darkness of the spectrum?"

"As absurd as that sounds, Fernleaf…" Larring muttered with major trepidation. "…I fear you may be right."

When none answered, he lifted his palms defensively and shrugged. "Something to meditate on. I'm of a mind to meditate now. My Apprentices, would you like to join me in meditation in the Garden Rooms down in the Sublevel?"

All the Jedi Knights separated into their respective activities. Larring, Divan, and Larina descended into the Sublevels of the Enclave.

Behind the other two, Larina snuck her paw into the collar of her tunic and removed her purple Kyber Crystal necklace. She turned the gem over and over in her paws, pondering on it. The crystal's glow had never once dimmed during their mission on Corellia. The crystal had guided her every action during their battle with the swoop gangs. Even against the one who'd almost had their way with her with the vibroblade; the Force prompted her through the crystal to sever that gangster's arm. It never failed her. It showed her visions of how to destroy the swoop bikes, and what maneuvers and techniques to use in her chosen discipline of Ataru during the entirety of the battle. Deep in her heart, she hoped it would continue to guide and protect her.

"Rina? Are you keeping up?"

Divan came walking back down the corridor. Larina hastily tried to stuff the necklace back beneath her tunic. Divan stopped in his tracks, turning his head to one side and staring at her dubiously with narrowed eyes.

"Hey…what was that?" The tone in which he asked was one of surprisingly genuine curiosity.

Larina jumped in fright. The necklace fell from her paws and dangled conspicuously on its chain. Divan walked authoritatively over to her and caught the heart-shaped Kyber crystal in his fingers. He recognized it immediately, then looked at Larina, who was hanging her head in shame.

"What is this, Rina? How did you get it?" Divan's tone was firm but not angry.

Larina gulped and trembled on the spot. Divan could sense she was losing her composure. Her Force aura was beginning to slip and she looked almost on the verge of tears.

"Larina…" Divan closed his fingers around the Kyber crystal. "It's okay. You don't need to be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to know what this is and how you got it. Did someone give it to you?"

Larina opened her eyes tentatively. She dared not look at Divan in his own. Instead, she drew on the Force to push Divan away. Not seeing it coming, he stumbled back a couple of feet and nearly slipped on a patch of grass underfoot. He steadied himself and stood straight, folding his arms impatiently.

Larina turned away and closed her eyes again. She clutched her necklace and held it to her lips. She still trembled, more noticeably this time.

Behind her, Divan gasped in realization.

"Rina…did Tinarandel give that to you?"

Larina did not answer for half a minute. Finally, she spoke through her closed fist.

"Y…yes…But…his sister Isidith made it. Tinarandel gave it to me…before…before we joined the Wars."

Divan heard her through the Force. He knew she could hear him through the same.

Larina opened her eyes, but did not lift her head and only held the necklace to her heart. She channeled _curato salva_ to placate her shaking body and her anxious heart. Divan recognized the same _Control_ technique that he'd used to heal his shoulder wound inflicted from the swoop gangs. He had no choice but to word his next question mindfully.

"Rina…was there something going on between you and Tinarandel that we don't know about?"

Larina's breath caught in her throat. For half a minute she did not answer. Divan, though loath to ask again, repeated his original statement.

"Larina, I don't want to hurt you. Please…just tell me the truth."

"That…that is the truth, Divan." Larina choked. "I have told you nothing less than the truth." She found her courage and turned around to face him.

"Tinarandel and me…are – or were – in love. Truly and deeply."

Now Divan's breath stopped short in his throat. His mind filled with a thin fog of surprise and perplexity – but only briefly. Larina had indeed been honest. The fog lifted from his eyes, and they were opened to the truth of everything.

Sighing in despair, Divan gathered his emotional faculties. He slowly came abreast of Larina and placed his sympathetic paws on her shoulders.

"Who else knows, Larina?"

"Both Isidith and Vadrieriand knew…" Larina whispered tentatively. "And now you. Master Larring doesn't know. He wouldn't understand. We shouldn't tell him." She slipped from Divan's grasp and turned around to face him, dropping the crystal from her fist and letting it hang just above her breasts.

"Do you think it's easy for me to keep it secret? After what we went through on Corellia, I worry more and more about Tinarandel's safety. I too wouldn't have thought to search for my birth parents after you brought it up at CorSec. Remember what Director Tristanas said about our parents? Yours are on Coruscant, Divan. That means, Force willing, you can perhaps visit and be reunited with them, work with them in their metal foundry if you wanted to! But mine are dead, Divan, deceased! Just like our Jedi brothers and sisters and the countless Republic soldiers whose bodies to this day still litter the battlegrounds of the dozens of planets we fought across in the Mandalorian Wars! I lost everything after Tinarandel left the Order. I thought I could at least find the parents who birthed me. But it seems…now I never will."

She stared deep into Divan's warm consoling eyes, his face crestfallen and riddled with tangible guilt.

"I'm sorry, Rina. I shouldn't have asked. I'll never ask about it again."

Divan turned to resume walking the corridor, but Larina grabbed his paws. He stared back into her eyes full of tears, begging, pleading.

"Divan, this isn't your fault. You didn't know. I forgive you. Please don't dwell on it, okay?"

Divan nodded wordlessly. Larina reached out and placed her paws on his shoulders.

"Now that you know the truth, please promise me something." Her voice was a cracked breathless whisper. "When we find Tinarandel – _if_ we find him – promise me…you won't hurt him. Promise me, Divan."

Her entreating words penetrated Divan's mind, piercing through the shell of his skull and into the core of his brain. Larina was making a genuine advocation for Tinarandel, and he knew it. Her and Tinarandel, their love was true and romantic. They knew the risks and chose to take them anyway.

Divan turned around and grasped her paws on his shoulders, staring deep for the last time into those hazel eyes tainted by the darkness of the stone corridor.

"I promise, Larina. I won't hurt Tinarandel. I'll spare his life. You have my word."

Larina hesitated for a short moment, then nodded and removed her paws from Divan. She stared at him solemnly and exhaled, her chest falling in defeat.

"I have your word, Divan. I'm holding you to it."

They resumed walking the corridor to catch up to Master Larring in the Sublevel.

"What do you think our parents would've been like, Div?" Larina wondered aloud.

Divan was staring ahead across the hallway, his mind wandered off into far-fetched thoughts. He wrenched his paws together and sighed sadly, looking down at his feet in shame.

"They would've loved us, Rina…At least, I'm certain yours would've loved you than mine ever did."

* * *

 **Jedi Enclave Sublevel, Garden Chamber**

Beneath the Jedi Enclave's central courtyard dwelt the large Garden Chamber, decorated by wide basins of summer flowers hanging down over the stone edges of the containers. The Chamber itself sat on a raised dais, illuminated by natural sunlight from the world above and a short stone bench in the center.

The Jedi sat cross-legged on the dais in a closed circle in front of the stone bench. Larring had his back to the bench, his albino fur glowing under the sunlight. Divan was on his right, flowering vines wreathed over his shoulders. Larina sat between the two, facing the enormous stone planters.

Divan's mind dwelt on what he'd just learned from Larina, about her and Tinarandel's secret forbidden love. He had to admit: he admired the shrewdness of their secrecy. How they gained the mental and emotional fortitude to maintain their secret for the entirety of the Mandalorian Wars was something far beyond his understanding. Try as he might to distract himself and think of something else, he could scarcely keep the troubling thoughts at bay, and they dwelt at the forefront of his mind like phantoms of the Force.

Meanwhile, Larina recited the primary line of the Jedi Code to herself repeatedly during the meditation, to suppress her emotions and keep her thoughts leashed from Tinarandel. The Kyber crystal necklace pulsed beneath the collar of her tunic, almost like a beating heart, reminding her of him. But she didn't want to be reminded, trying to recite the Code in its entirety in her head. It seemed to grant her some sufficient measure of comfort and composition. Her sorrows from earlier drifted away, as if expelled out into hyperspace. The beating of the Kyber crystal hanging from its chain just below her collarbone lessened, glowing unnoticeably dim beneath the fabric of her robes.

 _Tinarandel…Isidith…Vadrieriand…I will keep it safe, for you. I promise._

Larring cast his broadened vision into the future, to foresee how to find Tinarandel, and where to search across the Galaxy. He thought back on Grandmaster Tipuka's advice.

 _Stop looking at the problem from my current perspective, and learn to view it from another._

He cast his consciousness further, into the very void of the Force. Suddenly, his mind's eye opened, and a peculiar vision materialized, tangible in both nature and shape.

 _He saw a world of thick orange dust and abrasive brown sands, of towering conic structures and gigantic statues of faceless beings with their heads hung and their bodies forced into humble, submissive poses; a world that pierced through his body with the aura of the Bogan, the very essence of the Dark Side of the Force. It was a half-world of darkness lit only by the fire of a fading sun. Dotting its landscape were ancient tombs and crypts of unspeakable malicious beings from millennia past, their identities long lost to the ages. The very air was torn asunder with screaming winds and terrible storms that scratched through Larring's fur and into his skin. A world of the Dark Side itself, and no welcome presence of the Light._

 _In the middle of it all, a brown-furred Squirrelan, garbed in black Sith robes and a red tunic and holding a crimson lightsaber in his left paw…and a strange pyramid-shaped artifact in his right paw._

 _As Larring raised his paw to shield his eyes from the sandstorm, the Squirrelan too looked directly at him. He closed his paw over the artifact and gripped his lightsaber tighter. His eyes glowed a penetrating fiery yellow. His body was filled with Darkness._

 _The Squirrelan raised his lightsaber above Larring and swung it straight downwards._

Larring awoke to the sound of his short heaving. He slumped back against the stone bench, holding his head and chest. He could feel cold sweat streaming down his temples.

Divan and Larina hurried over to their Master and helped him sit up straight.

"Master! What happened?" asked the unsettled Divan.

"Did you see a vision, Master?" Larina placed her paw on Larring's chest and channeled the Force to calm the Badger's palpitating heart.

Larring placed his paws on his Apprentices' shoulders. He stared at them with a grave demeanor.

"I know where Tinarandel is. I know where he's gone."

He moved to stand, and the two Squirrelans helped him to his feet. He fixed his robe and stepped off the dais, his serious expression unchanging.

"Master," Divan and Larina both held his arms, pleading. "Tell us what you saw!"

Larring hesitated. Dare he reveal the terrible truth of the planet he witnessed, the answer to all their questions since Corellia, and the culmination of Fernleaf's tireless studies? "We must go to the Jedi Archives. Grandmaster Tipuka lifted the exclusivity to Masters and has allowed Jedi of all ranks to enter it as they please. Let's see if we can reserve ourselves a map table."

"What's wrong, Master? You saw Tinarandel in your vision?" Divan stared quizzically at his Master as they started down the stone tunnel to the Archives.

"Why must we speak of the Dark Side in the Enclave?" Larina asked fearfully, shaking her head in disbelief. "Haven't we done that enough today already? There are too many worlds of the Sith to consider. Where would Tinarandel possibly go?"

They eventually gathered around a map table, inputting galactic coordinates into its database.

"When Fernleaf suggested that Tinarandel could've gone on a quest for the Dark Side, he wasn't wrong." Larring did not look up from his keyboard and continued typing meticulously. "What we dreaded has come true. Tinarandel is indeed searching for the Darkness. For what reasons and why I dare not imagine."

"But _where_?!" The other two demanded.

Larring integrated his completed code.

"Here."

The holotable surface projected the spherical image of a planet above and around the Jedi, titled diagonally on its axis. It was colored by burned orange sands and ringed by layers of asteroid belts, suspended comets, and space debris. The rings encircled the Jedi and floated threateningly around them.

Divan and Larina named the planet without a second's reluctance.

"Is that…Korriban?!" Divan's face was chalk-white.

"The birth world of the Sith?" Larina added, her voice breathless with fear.

Larring stared sternly into the depths of the dark world and nodded. "Yes, this is Korriban, in the Stygian Caldera. Tinarandel may be on his way there if he is not there already. This is where the Dark Side is born, and Tinarandel is on a quest for it. This is the place the Force showed me. It has never lied to us. It has shown us the truth about everything."

"Tinarandel…" Larina whispered under her breath, putting a paw to her mouth in disbelief. "What are you doing, my love?"

"I'm sorry, Rina, what did you say?" Larring asked apologetically. "My apologies, I wasn't listening."

"Nothing, Master." Larina shook her head. "Nothing at all."

"Well, now we know where Tinarandel is!" Divan switched the holotable back to its default mode. "That's it! We're going to Korriban!" He made to leave the Archives and re-ascend to the surface of the Enclave.

"Wait!" Larina called after the male Squirrelan. "How are we going to get there? We don't even have a ship that can survive a trip to the Stygian Caldera!"

"Yes, we do!" Divan was already grinning pridefully over his shoulder. "Mine!"

* * *

 **Jedi Enclave Landing Pad**

The _Wyvern Disciple_ is a Corellian-made XS stock light freighter, repurposed and redesigned from its original smuggling purpose into a Jedi-styled miniature spacecruiser. It belonged to none other to Divan Tonaka. He knew how to manage it, how to care for it, and of course, how to fly it.

The freighter had seen extensive use during the Mandalorian Wars, serving as both combat vessel, home base, and sanctuary. It had traveled to Althir, to Duro, to Onderon, and Dxun, among many other planets during the bloody brutal conflict. It was perhaps by some divine miracle of the will of the Force that it managed the disaster at Malachor V. Now, after a period of inertia, the _Wyvern Disciple_ was ready to fly again.

"While we were on the _Ixion_ coming back from Christophsis," Divan explained as they stood on the Enclave's landing pad, waiting for the ship to be brought to them on the apron. "I made a long-distance call to Dantooine asking for my ship to be tuned up. I had a strange feeling that we'd need to use it sooner or later, whenever we left again to search some other planet for Tinarandel. So, I wanted it prepared ahead of time." He sighed and shook his head skeptically. "I just never imagined we'd use it to fly to Korriban."

"Overcoming your dislike of hyperspace travel now, are you, Divan?" Larring jested with a harmless smirk.

Divan stuck his tongue out at the joking Badger. "Very funny, Master. Consider it therapy. Besides, I'm the one doing the piloting now. I'll decide what happens in hyperspace this time."

"' _Fear is naught more than a mere determinant, a powerful motivator to give everything you've got to a situation to achieve your wanted results.'_ "

"Is that an ancient Jedi proverb, Master?" Divan put his paws behind his head and furrowed his brow. "I've never heard that one."

Larring chuckled and ruffled Divan's headfur. "No, I didn't come up with that, Divan. It was something that the leader of CorSec's Sarlaac Squad said to me before we left Corellia. She was a Rat if I remember rightly. Her words have stuck with me ever since. Her statement was very thought-provoking and evocative. It made me wonder about the dichotomy of fear and courage. Which emotion, which state of mind do we allow to rule us and influence our actions? I've been waiting for the right time to say it to you two ever since then. Besides, a day at our sacred Enclave wouldn't be complete without some Jedi wisdom imparted, now would it?

"One more piece of wisdom I wish to give to you, my children…" Larring warmly placed his paws on the two Squirrelans' shoulders. "My son and daughter in the Force, my Apprentices…Please do not be afraid to be afraid. Your feelings are valid, and your emotions are real. Your thoughts, too, can guide your ways through the Force. They are the keys to the doors of your instincts, and in turn, your actions. Listen to them, pay attention to them. Anything will be possible if you follow what your instincts say.

Meditate on what I have said. Never stop searching for your own enlightenment. Nothing is impossible with the Force."

Larina patted Divan on the back. "Don't worry, Div. I'm sure you'll get comfortable with it someday. It just takes one step at a time." She pointed out to the landing pad's west end. "Look, there she is!"

The three Jedi climbed the loading ramp and entered the mighty Corellian freighter. Divan instantly rushed to the cockpit.

He swiped away a thin sheet of dust in the air and shook his head nostalgically. "She's seen much better days. I haven't had the chance to even take her out for a joyride since the Wars ended."

He sat down in one of the pilot's seats, pressing a few buttons, pushing and pulling a couple of levers, and flipping about three or four switches. The ship responded to his every command, beeping, squeaking, and chirping to life, ready to be flown by her old Jedi master.

"Good to see you again, girl," Divan whispered to it, fitting his paws around the controls and running his soft palms across the dashboard. "I've missed you, too. Time for a new trip into the unknown."

"She's never let us down," Larring slid into the other seat. "I have faith in her abilities to make it to Korriban."

Larina booted up a navigation console and proceeded to enter the proper coordinates into the navicomputer. "The sooner we get going, the sooner we can get there." She turned to the other two, her face confident and hopeful. "May the Force be with us!"

Divan retracted the landing gear and lifted the freighter into the air. It wobbled slightly in place, almost as if tentative to fly after years of rest.

"Come on, don't fail me now!" Divan prompted the ship. "You can do it! Do it for me!"

Larring and Larina held onto their armrests for dear life while Divan straightened the ship. Finally, it shook with the full power of its activated thrusters.

Divan laughed out loud triumphantly. "Yeah! She's back in action! That's my _Wyvern Disciple_!"

His company watched in awe at his expert ability to handle such a massive spacecraft with relative ease. Out of the window on the landing pad, the rest of the Order waved farewell to them. They made sure to wave back before flying out of sight of the Enclave.

Larina settled into her sleeping quarters after the _Disciple_ had left the Dantooine atmosphere She hung up her robe on a wall hook beside her locker and stretched her limbs to relax. Leaving her locker, her eyes fell on a picture frame sitting in the bookshelf beside her bed. It contained a picture of her and Tinarandel from so many standard years ago, long before the Wars, standing together underneath the very same oak tree by the river which she and the other Knights had today hung out.

Tinarandel had his arms folded casually and was smiling contently, leaning against the trunk beneath the hanging leaves. Larina was standing to his right, slightly closer to the sunlight with a wide-eyed sunny expression, her paws folded formally over each other in front of her. Flanking them from above, two pairs of Squirrelan legs dangled from the edges of supportive tree branches: Tinarandel's siblings.

Larina reached out and caressed her love's face longingly.

 _Hold on, Tinarandel. We're coming for you._

The _Wyvern Disciple_ exited Dantooine orbit and nailed its first-attempt jump into hyperspace, its course set straight for Korriban.


	11. Stranded on Stranger Sands

**Korriban, onboard** _ **Pegasus Javelin**_

Korriban's a rock.

It is a chilled rock of harsh thick dust and wind-swept orange-red sand, giant looming monuments dotting its landscape of red sandstone and steep sharp mountain ranges that tower over the vast expansive deserts. The planet itself exudes the aura of the Dark Side of the Force that permeates in an endless cycle from the surface to the atmosphere. This is the birthplace of the fierce Sith Pureblood race and the homeworld of the Sith Lords. This is where the Dark Side was born.

Trook Nothris stood in the _Pegasus Javelin_ 's engine room, examining a damage report of the ship's hard crash landing on the surface of Korriban hours earlier. A look of sheer white-faced bewilderment colored his face as his eyes perused the list, each entry more depressing than the last.

 _"Cracked front right windshield,"_ he muttered cluelessly to himself, rubbing his hammerhead face in tired frustration with his long fingers. _"Heavy clipping on the missile launchers and the laser cannons, a dented hull, a bent communications dish, and extensive damage to the engine! This is ridiculous!"_

He exited the engine room and went out to the Main Deck. He navigated through the mess of the spilled contents of the cargo hold to activate the ship's (strangely) functional heating system. A door on the Deck's right side opened up. Tinarandel stepped out and lifted his welding helmet.

"Hyperdrive's busted, Master," he admitted with a confused shrug. "Completely empty of charge. I just can't figure out what happened." He tapped the sides of his head in irritation with his deactivated fusion cutter and wrench. "I thought I knew better about how to maintain our starship."

Nothris patted Tinarandel comfortingly on the shoulder. _"That isn't your fault, Tinarandel. Keep trying. We'll look at it together later. I'm going to check on the others."_

Tinarandel returned inside the hyperdrive room. Nothris descended the staircase below decks to the ship's medical bay.

Quanoe sat upright on the medical bed dressing his bruises and wounds from his landing in the holoconference room. C2-N95 prepared a painkiller needle at a table on the other side of the room. He still sparked and buzzed chaotically, his body dented and cracked in a few places.

Nothris reviewed Quanoe's medical report at the overhead computer. _"Good to see you're recovering quickly. How are you feeling?"_

Quanoe finished wrapping bandages around his hands. "Better, mostly. Your Droid gave me some bacta ointment. I'd say and do the same for your ship, but she certainly looks like she needs more serious patching up as well, wouldn't you agree?" The scathing hint in his sarcastic voice was undeniably evident.

Nothris resisted the heated urge to scowl at the Zabrak, and instead maintained an unreadable poker face. _"Mind your tongue, Quanoe, about the_ Pegasus Javelin. _She's a finer mightier ship than any other you've ever flown. She brought us to the Stygian Caldera, and she'll return us to Taris. As of now, you are on Korriban. You'd better mind your manners in the world of the Sith, a race of superior blood and biology to yours, and who wield a power far surpassing your feeble understanding. My apprentice and I need you in peak condition if you are to help us find Nagrig Deathblade's tomb. I'd suggest you keep that fact duly noted. Take care of yourself."_

He contorted his face into a spine-chilling glare. _"You've already lost your credits, Quanoe. Don't lose your head."_

Quanoe gulped and put aside the roll of bandages on his bedside table. C2-N95 walked over to him, rubbed an alcohol swab on his shoulder, and mindfully injected the painkiller.

" **May I ask how Apprentice Tinarandel is doing?"** he asked Nothris, returning to the table to clean the needle and place it back in its box. **"I have bacta patches available to treat his lightsaber wounds."**

"I'm here, SeeToo," Tinarandel stepped down from the staircase into the medbay. His toolbox was tucked under his arm. "How are you doing? Not you, hornhead," Tinarandel shot dismissively at Quanoe when he opened his mouth to answer. "Come here and let me fix you up. I'm not risking you trying to fix the ship only to break yourself up in the process. Everybody knows that a starship is only as good as the Droid that's stewarding it. Don't worry, I'll take my bacta patches later."

He placed the toolbox on the floor and opened it up. "I knew I'd need this eventually." He dropped his welding helmet over his face and interchanged between fusion cutter and a socket wrench to restore the dislocated metals on EnNinetyfive's shoulders.

 _"I read the damage reports,"_ Nothris explained to them. _"Overall, the impairments are far worse than that time we had to make that emergency landing on Bothawui."_

"You went to Bothawui?" Quanoe exclaimed, his curiosity genuinely piqued.

"None of your business," Tinarandel snarled at him disparagingly, his voice slightly muffled behind his helmet and the loud burning fusion cutter moving down EnNinetyfive's back.

" **I'm afraid there is little we can do to reverse the destruction,"** EnNinetyfive admitted to Nothris. **"That being said, I bear no shame in admitting that I hold sufficient confidence that I can do it on my own. My ultimate goal is to restore the** _ **Pegasus Javelin**_ **to its full functionality in the interim that you are off exploring the planet."**

 _"That's a brilliant idea, EnNinetyfive,"_ Nothris nodded in agreement. _"The sooner we find Deathblade's tomb and Holocron, the earlier we can return home to Taris. For now, let's focus on taking care of ourselves."_

EnNinetyfive speedily left for the engine room after his fixup finished. Tinarandel packed his tools and toolbox in the cargo hold. Going back to the medbay, he stripped off his tunic and took his bacta patches from the table, examining his cauterized second-degree burns on his shoulders in a body mirror. The formerly serious burns from Baric's lightsaber had healed into visible charcoal-black surface scars; the layers of fur and skin beneath stitched themselves together. Tinarandel opened the first bacta patch and spread it comfortably over the wound on his left shoulder first. He did the same with the second patch over his right shoulder. These patches ensured that his scars mended properly and became a lesser priority during his planetside travel; simultaneously, they acted as protective coverings from the abrasive winds of Korriban. Tinarandel unwrapped the bandages around his head and rubbed bacta cream on his bruises inflicted from the falling contents of the cargo hold. He redonned his tunic and joined Nothris and Quanoe on the Main Deck to check the Class 2 hyperdrive.

"This doesn't make any sense," he scratched his head, grimacing quizzically. "Hyperdrives don't just run out of charge like that. We'd barely used more than half of it when we jumped from Feriae Junction."

 _"You're right,"_ Nothris nodded and impatiently tapped the defunct device. _"Not to mention a less than 55% fuel capacity, too. This defies all known starship science. A total engine failure, a hyperdrive drop, and a complete fuel loss to boot? Nothing is coincidental anymore. The Dark Side affected the technology on the ship, disrupting the connections and fragmenting the circuitry. I theorize that Korriban exerted its influence. None of what happened is normal. The questions are what, how, and why?"_

Tinarandel bent down to read the data on the hyperdrive's field guide. "I wholly agree with you, Master. The Dark Side must've influenced the ship. There's no other probable answer."

"'Influenced the ship'?" Quanoe snorted in derision and put his hands cynically on his hips. "What does that even mean?"

"What does that mean?" Tinarandel reprimanded him sharply, jabbing a finger in Quanoe's chest. "It means that something wanted us on Korriban."

 _"Not something,"_ Nothris murmured, sternly rapping his fingers on the hyperdrive motivator. _"Someone."_

Tinarandel stared sideways at his Master. "You don't think…?"

 _"Deathblade,"_ Nothris nodded again, stiffly this time with a dark expression. _"Acting from beyond the grave."_

Quanoe abruptly doubled over in stitches, stumbling backward against the wall and holding his aching sides. "Deathblade? Acting from beyond the grave? That's preposterous!"

He yelped when Tinarandel smacked him roughly upside the head. "What did my Master say to you about showing respect for Korriban?" the Squirrelan shouted to reprimand him. "Another comment out of you and we'll not hesitate to abandon you in the desert to die."

"What?!" Quanoe continued to laugh shamelessly, a sound that irritated Tinarandel to the bone. "I'm simply stating the hard facts! You Sith are inordinately superstitious! You rely far too singularly on your beliefs, ideologies, and mysticisms! Have some rationality and try seeing the Galaxy as it is: natural and realistic! There is nothing supernatural or otherworldly; there are nature and technology! Your Sith superstitions are so overabundant!"

"Why, you closed-minded spawn of a Kath hound!" Tinarandel angrily clenched Quanoe by the collar of his tunic and dug his claws deep into its fabric. "Haven't you noticed we're in Sith space? The supernatural and otherworldly reign supreme here over nature and technology. Besides, a lack of superstition gets you killed on this side of the Galaxy. Now, for the last time, quit being so intolerably obstinate, and show some respect for Korriban!"

Tinarandel begrudgingly relinquished his grip on Quanoe, who disgustedly smoothed out his collar and assumed a haughty Zabrak pose.

Tinarandel growled in annoyance and facepalmed himself. "I suppose Deathblade acting from beyond the grave makes some amount of sense, Master," he acknowledged to Nothris. "It loosely explains how we couldn't activate the deflector shields in time. Deathblade must've rigged the entire ship system."

 _"He rendered all the access controls unresponsive, too,"_ Nothris added, leaning nonchalantly against the wall with his arms folded in pondering. _"EnNinetyfive wasn't able to open the escape pod, though that is for the best. I cannot bear to abandon a good ship."_ He fondly ran one hand over the hyperdrive, sighing in dismay.

"So, what do we do, Master?" Tinarandel inquired of Nothris, a mix hopeful and uncertain. "What's our last resort?"

 _"The only thing we have to do, I'm afraid,"_ Nothris shrugged with finality. _"We fix our ship."_

Before anyone else could speak up, Tinarandel left to join EnNinetyfive in the engine room. "Looks like we've got no other choice," he disclosed to the Droid. "Let's do a complete scan-through of the _Javelin_ and see what's diagnosable. Maybe we'll salvage some electrical power. As long as the lights are working, we'll be fine."

Tinarandel rotated a scanner over a holographic model of the _Pegasus Javelin_ , while EnNinetyfive typed commands into the computer monitor. The model beeped sharply when it identified a problem in the ship, as indicated in a dark red warning outline of the affected area on the large rectangular amber-yellow screen.

"The main sensor array was dislodged by the crash," Tinarandel noted and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "And the communicator dish got knocked askew. All right, let's switch to the backup antennas." He pressed a few buttons on the module beside the keyboard to activate the ship's backup communicator systems. The holograph now glowed green. "We'll make do with the reduced range and lost connection to the HoloNet."

" **It seems the deflector shields took the brunt of the hit,"** explained EnNinetyfive, and he pointed out the sides of the holograph to Tinarandel. **"If we had crashed nose-first on Korriban, the resulting damage would've been disastrous! All that kinetic energy rippling through the craft causing even worse injury! As the organics say, we would've been toast! We'd better turn them off until it's safe for them to be fixed."**

"I agree, SeeToo," Tinarandel pressed the confirmation button to deactivate what remained of the deflector shields and moved on. "The primary thrusters have gone cold," he noted in bewildered surprise. "But that's to be expected. Divert all excess power to the subsidiary thrusters."

" **Good thinking, Tinarandel,"** EnNinetyfive agreed and redirected the unused recycled energy to the smaller thrusters. **"That leaves the hyperdrive. How will we get it to charge? We've nothing with which to supplement it in place of gamma radiation."**

"You're right," Tinarandel rubbed his forehead in concern and drummed his other paw on the button module. "That's going to be a setback. Well, I say for certain that I can't determine how long we'll be spending on Korriban. That's dependent on the time it takes for us to find Deathblade's tomb. Let's put the matter of the hyperdrive on the backburner for now, and come back to it after Master Nothris and I have procured the Holocron." He flipped down a row of bypass switches to lock the hyperdrive. "On the upside, the transpacitor and the regulator are working optimally, so we know it's neither overheated nor physics-prone. That's a saving grace, at least. To be safe, we'd better refresh the horizontal boosters and the alluvial dampers together."

"I don't presume you _know_ how to recharge your hyperdrive, do you?" Quanoe randomly interrupted as he strode into the engine room. "Surely for the couple standard years that you've owned this ship, you know how to take care of it? I'm sure whatever happened to you on Bothawui couldn't have been that bad compared to this!" When neither Squirrelan nor Droid answered him and kept on typing, he scoffed and continued, leaning on the wall beside Tinarandel's scanner console. "If you don't know how to manage your ship, then perhaps you don't deserve to use it. I on the other hand," he pointed his thumb brazenly at himself. "I'd never neglect the _Pegasus Javelin_ or its inner and outer parts. I'll never fail in my duties to her. I'd give her all the gamma radiation she needed to charge her hyperdrive, even if I had to collect it for her myself!"

At this, Tinarandel reached out his paw and Force Pushed Quanoe away from the wall to the entrance of the room. He sneered intolerantly at the Zabrak trying to right his posture after being Pushed aside. "You are just such a real motormouth, aren't you? With all the energy you're generating using your mouth alone, maybe we ought to use _you_ as the hyperdrive! SeeToo, seize our guest and attach his tongue to the auxiliary engines, will you?"

EnNinetyfive stood straight from his chair, walked over to where Quanoe leaned on the door frame, seized him gruffly by the cuff of his tunic, and tossed him underhand clear out of the room. Quanoe landed on the floor of the Main Deck on his back with a shocked yelp.

" **If I may be truly honest, Tinarandel,"** he professed to Tinarandel when he returned to his chair. **"My most realistic upset is about the missile launchers and laser blasters. It'd be impractical to attempt safe navigation through the Korriba Scar debris field without them."**

"I appreciate your honesty, EnNinetyfive," Tinarandel patted his factotum Droid's gold-plated shoulders assuringly and closely analyzed the holograph model of the equipped weapons. "That is upsetting. Nothing I'm sure a fusion cutter and a hydrospanner can't fix, though. Perhaps if we heated the ship to a controllable temperature, it might also pop out the dents in the hull. There's enough resin to patch up the cracks in the right front windshield as well. I promise, SeeToo, we'll give the _Pegasus Javelin_ a full thorough professional repair once we get back to Taris."

Later, the two met again with Nothris and Quanoe on the Bridge.

"This isn't working!" Tinarandel growled stressfully, facepalming himself a second time and clenching his fists. "We didn't have it this bad when we landed on Bothawui!"

 _"You're right, Tinarandel,"_ Nothris nodded his reluctant agreement, rubbing his face tiredly. _"Please kindly do not remind me of Bothawui."_

"That's it?" the white-faced Quanoe asked fearfully, sitting down nervously at the navicomputer. "We're giving up? We're grounded?"

 _"Much as I loathe to admit it…."_ Nothris shook his head hopelessly, shrugging in defeat. _"Yes. We're grounded."_

Tinarandel threw his paws up in the air incredulously. "Brilliant! We're stuck here! Even if we do manage to find Deathblade's Holocron, we'll have no means of taking it back to Taris!"

" **I respectfully disagree, Tinarandel,"** EnNinetyfive entered the Bridge and stood beside Nothris. **"It is not far-fetched to consider Master Nothris' theory of supernatural Sith power to be correct. There is no explanation other than that it is paranormal. Nevertheless, I request to remain here to make all the necessary repairs to the** _ **Pegasus Javelin**_ **. I can also locate the Korriban Sith Academy for your convenience."**

 _"You want to try to do everything yourself?"_ Nothris titled his hammer-shaped head skeptically. _"A_ Hollis- _series Taris-made factotum Droid fighting mind-to-mind against the infinite sorcery of an ancient Sith Lord?"_

" **Begging your pardons, Master Nothris, but my decision has already been made."** EnNinetyfive stretched to his fullest height and nodded reassuringly at the Ithorian Sith. **"I am more than aware of the potential risks of a** _ **Hollis-**_ **series Taris-made factotum Droid fighting mind-to-mind against the infinite sorcery of an ancient Sith Lord. However, what I lack in the Force, I make up for in my position as the designated caretaker of the** _ **Pegasus Javelin**_ **and its owners. For that reason alone, I was created, and no other. I'm going to be doing my job whether Nagrig Deathblade likes it or not. Bothawui was terrible, for sure, and the current situation we find ourselves in appears drastically worse. Yet I remain optimistic that I can single-handedly rebuild what we've lost, even if it has to be done from the ground up. Let Deathblade do what he wants and say what he wishes. I stand more than determined in my abilities to make thorough repairs by myself. Not he nor all of Korriban's ancient Sith Lords will stop me."**

Tinarandel smiled warmly at the bold factotum Droid. "You are a true Steward, SeeToo!" He lightly nudged EnNinetyfive's chestplate. "We have complete and utter faith in you. You know better than anybody else in the entire Galaxy about how to care for our ship. We'll leave you to it."

Nothris stepped out of the Bridge before anyone else spoke up. _"You stay here. Do what you do best. I'm going outside to get some of that cool Korriban air. Tinarandel, would you care to join me?"_

EnNinetyfive clicked his feet together and saluted Nothris assertively. **"Count on me, Master Nothris! I promise to do everything in my power to restore the** _ **Pegasus Javelin**_ **to its former glory! I do pride myself on the utmost attention to detail, most especially when it comes to matters concerning our invaluable Corvette!"** He entered a series of complicated location commands into one of the holoprojectors and started to restlessly study a heavily detailed topographical holomap of the planet of Korriban.

* * *

 **Korriban Plains**

 _"Can you feel it, Tinarandel?"_

Nothris and Tinarandel stood tall on an elevated sandy hill above the low canyon where the _Pegasus Javelin_ lay, overlooking miles of orange-red desert and beholding the silvery-white Stygian Caldera moon faintly concealed parallel to the setting sun. A moderate wind blowing from the right ruffled their Sith robes dramatically and bristled through the fur of Tinarandel's exposed bushy Squirrelan tail. Darkness, in every sense of the world, lived, breathed, and brooded on the mysterious heathen world known as Korriban.

 _"That is the power of Korriban, the call of the Dark Side,"_ Nothris whispered reverently. _"The same power the first Sith heeded, and it instructed them to build their revered Academy; the selfsame the Jedi Exiles of old chased here, setting foot on the sands we stand on. It is the ambiance of shadow that influences Sith across the Galaxy, from Bosthirda to Ziost, to Dromund Kaas and Taris, and beyond."_

Nothris paced around Tinarandel, who stared transfixed into the distance, lost in concentration on the evocative imagery of his Master's words.

 _"You hear it, Tinarandel? The voice is not just in your ears; is it in your mind? You sense its seduction in your heart, its magnetic pull on your body. Here on this world was born the aura of the Bogan. As it called to countless others before, it now calls to you. All you have to do is answer it._

" _Think back to our duel with Lord Baric, our duel of great contempt. Remember what he did to us; how he made you feel. Remember the pain you felt when fighting him, the anger, the rage, and the hatred. Remember the excruciating pain of his Force Lightning on your fur and skin. Remember the disdain you felt for him when you confronted him after you awoke. Focus on those strong feelings and raw emotions, for they make you strong, the fundamental essence of the Darkness. Through passion, you gain strength. This is Korriban. You can express yourself freely here. Clench your fist and hold your lightsaber tight: know to differentiate the moment to strike and the moment to hold back. Assert your power in the Dark Side and command it to kneel to your superiority, as your miserable defeated enemies do the same. You know that you are not a Sith yet, Tinarandel. But I assure you that you are already set on the path to becoming one. It is but a matter of time."_

Tinarandel closed his eyes and thought back to the duel with Lord Baric in the Base on Taris, and recalled in exact detail the memory of Nothris and Baric fighting together; Baric poised, Nothris aggressive. The sounds of their lightsabers clashing pierced every ear in the room, even the crowd behind the energy barriers in the seating. He saw Baric punch Nothris in one of his mouths, and he cried out in fright and concern, then once again later when the Rat tripped the Ithorian underfoot, the second more sharply and fearful than the first.

 _He told me to stay back. He told me he had it!_

Then Nothris led Baric back towards the barriers. He swerved to his left when Baric's blade sliced through one of the conduits. The red sparks zapped out and stabbed through Baric's armor, launching him twenty feet across the room. The triumph Tinarandel felt at that moment was immeasurable.

Baric lifted Nothris in the air in pure rage, pulled him as if using an invisible rope, and struck him in the side of the head. Nothris crumpled incapacitated to the ground.

Anger coursed through Tinarandel, mixed with disgust and fury, and a secret electric determination to avenge his unconscious Master, no matter what the cost. Nothing more or less lived in his heart than a contemptuous hatred for Baric, a fire that burned furiously despite his concentration on Soresu.

He remembered himself writhing on the ground, his throat and lungs ripping apart as he screamed in agony from Baric's Force Lightning.

"Lord Baric will receive his comeuppance, Master," Tinarandel declared, his eyes still closed as the recollections faded from his mind's eye. "I'll see to it myself he does not go unpunished with what he did."

 _"Excellent ambition, Tinarandel. Moving on, what about your quest of vengeance against the Mandalorians?"_ Nothris continued, standing on Tinarandel's right side. _"For this very reason, you joined the Sith, your desire for spilled Mandalorian blood, for retribution upon those who rightly deserve to die. That is why we flew to Nar Shaddaa for Quanoe, and why we came to Korriban for Deathblade. The Mandalorians ripped your siblings from you, as they did my son from me."_

"I promised you to avenge Jwakir the same as my siblings," Tinarandel recalled, clenching his fists tightly at his sides. "My honor as a Dark Jedi holds me to my oath and to see it done."

Nothris patted him lightly on the shoulder. _"I know it is your honor as a Dark Jedi to hold to your oath, Tinarandel. I trust you. Moreover, I pray that your siblings are in the same vein avenged. Let the Force dictate what happens from hereon. Focus on the present moment."_ The Ithorian stood abreast of his Apprentice and stared out across the expansive sandy sea.

 _"Open your ears. Hear the voice of the Dark Side. It screams yet it also whispers; it speaks both loud and soft. Embrace the Bogan in your mind, body, and soul. Internalize it in every fiber of your being. It calls to you, Tinarandel. Listen."_

Tinarandel listened. Nothris sensed it.

 _"Breathe in the Darkness, Tinarandel. On Taris, the Dark Side is artificial and technological, and you had to seek it out. Yet here on Korriban do you feel it in its rawest purest form. It guides the way to Deathblade's tomb, and exposes our eyes to the truth of his Holocron."_

Tinarandel breathed in the parched icy air of the Sith world. No malevolent images or revelatory visions entered his mind. It did not trouble him. The raw pure energy was what he needed.

He opened his eyes and met Nothris: a noticeable mild tint of yellow-orange decorated his natural cocoa-brown. "I have embraced the Bogan, Master. I have become one with Korriban. I am ready to follow you wherever you lead."

Nothris nodded affirmingly and pointed ahead to the east. _"The journey of a thousand miles always begins with the first step on the path carved by the Force. We'll get going first thing tomorrow!"_

"Not quite yet, Master," Tinarandel suddenly looked down nervously at his sand-speckled shoes. "There's something important I wanted to talk to you about."

Nothris, taken briefly aback, nodded in understanding. _"Of course, Tinarandel. What is it you want to talk to me about? Are you okay?"_

A solemnity filled Tinarandel's eyes, a clear sadness that Nothris had never seen in him in a long time. Tinarandel looked him squarely in the eyes and explained, "Yes, I'm fine. I just wanted to tell you that…Master, your son Jwakir visited me, in a dream."

Nothris gasped audibly. All of a sudden, he felt his heart leap in his chest, and an unSith-like plaintiveness decorated his eyes. _"My son Jwakir visited you? In a dream? How? When? Tell me all about it, Tinarandel! As much as you can remember!"_ He held his Apprentice by the shoulders and begged him desperately. _"What did he say to you? Did he give a reason why he visited you in your dreaming state? Tell me what he said!"_

Tinarandel wasted no time in the preamble. "It happened the moment I fell asleep after our hyperspace jump from Junction. I wondered whether I was dreaming or not, Master. Jwakir clarified that it was a dream of necessity. Looking back on it, I still think it wasn't a dream at all, but a vision. He said he told you to tell me of him, that he wanted me to know of him, why you do what you do, and why you chose me to be your Apprentice. I replied that I understood if my replacing him as your Apprentice caused him any jealously. Then he surprised me, saying that he felt no jealousy, because perhaps the Dark Side designed for us to meet, and choose each other as Master and Apprentice at its behest. Our shared tragedies at the paws of the Mandalorians drew us together, as the will of the Darkness. Jwakir knew it was destined to happen, so it caused him no jealousy. He believed that the Force brings people together for a reason."

 _"The Jedi and the Sith alike believe that the Force brings people together for a reason,"_ Trook nodded in subtle agreement, removing his grip on Tinarandel's shoulders. _"No coincidence to either. Please, go on."_

Tinarandel sat down cross-legged on the sand and invited Nothris to do the same. They faced the backside of the _Pegasus Javelin_ and watched EnNinetyfive take a fusion cutter to the dented hull adjacent to the subsidiary thrusters. Quanoe stood beside him and held Tinarandel's toolbox.

"I asked Jwakir many questions," Tinarandel went on tactfully as EnNinetyfive beckoned to Quanoe to exchange the fusion cutter for a hydrospanner. "He answered them one after the other, patient and sympathetic. Your son talked of you so admiringly, Master," He smiled at Nothris in the shining moonlight. "He called you ambitious, passionate, and determined, in the way you duel, speak, educate me on the histories of the Sith, even in the way you play Sabaac." Tinarandel chuckled and laid his paws in his lap. "Then he congratulated me on my 'unprecedented win'."

 _"That is like my son!"_ Nothris caught himself laughing, but didn't bother to stop, as his translator hummed with the sound of his laughter into the Korriban night air. Nearby, EnNinetyfive and Quanoe moved to another spot on the hull. _"He was a character for truly deserved compliments!"_

"He spoke of his fondness for the way you stand up to the other Sith on Taris who look down on and degrade you, Master," Tinarandel further remarked fondly, turning his body to directly face Nothris. "Like Lord Baric and the other Masters of the Base. Most importantly, I saw your ambition, passion, and determination in the way you went to the Effigies as a last resort for supplication to pray for me. Jwakir agreed because the last time you prayed to them was –,"

 _"After he died, yes,"_ Nothris hung his head in an uninvited growing sorrow. _"I didn't want to lose you as I lost him."_

"'It would not do well for him to dwell endlessly on his grief,' he said to me," Tinarandel repeated Jwakir's words verbatim comfortingly. "Your fear and understanding that you'd never meet again, and my constant slandering of the Jedi Order, using our familial losses inflicted on us by the Mandalorians is what compelled you to find me. Then he answered my question from the Sabaac game: yes, ambition is indeed the way of the Sith."

Nothris laid his long-fingered hand on Tinarandel's head, resting it between the furry ears. _"Jwakir spoke what words lay in his heart. He spoke sincerely with you, I'm sure of it. Did he give a reason as to why he visited you in your sleep, Tinarandel?"_

Then Tinarandel gave Nothris the warmest and most loving smile he'd ever seen on the Squirrelan's face, as he held the Ithorian's hands in his own.

"Because Jwakir wants his father to know that he made the right choice."

Nothris gasped a second time and held his hands to his mouths, staring at Tinarandel in wordless captivation.

"Master, he said he feels no envy towards me because I am much like him." Tinarandel placed his paws on his chest to emphasize himself. "My temperament is disciplined and sharp, especially for a creature of my kind. We both specialized in Soresu, although my skill far surpasses what he ever achieved. 'There are great things to admire about you, Tinarandel'. I am neither a replacement nor a successor: I am his father's Apprentice and son; and he is honored to call me brother in the Sith Order."

Tears sprang to Nothris' eyes, of happiness and joy and overwhelming love for of his sons.

Tinarandel reached up and carefully wiped the traces from Nothris' eyes. "I posed the question of whether or not Jwakir believed I'm worthy of you and him. He explained that he has watched my progress since I started learning under you from the netherworld of the Force. What he thought of me was something he couldn't describe, yet he held me in the highest esteem. He said yes, I am worthy of him and you. But out of the blue, he asked me, 'do you think you are worthy of yourself?'"

 _"Do you, Tinarandel?"_ Nothris managed to say through his tears, inhaling and exhaling to calm his nerves. _"Do you think you are worthy of yourself?"_

Tinarandel mused over the question for several seconds, pondering over the events of the day and fitting them together like a puzzle inside his head. "At the time Jwakir asked, I said I didn't know. It sounded so stupid in my head and worse when it came out of my mouth. Although, looking back on it…Yes, I do believe I am worthy of myself now." He grinned from ear to ear confidently. "I know I am worthy of myself."

 _"You are worthy, Tinarandel. You honestly are, of me, Jwakir, and yourself."_ Nothris wrapped his arm around Tinarandel's shoulders again and held him close to his side. _"What more did my son say to you?"_

Tinarandel inched a tad closer to Nothris and adjusted his crossed legs snugly. "He gave me advice, that of the true Sith. This is what he said, word for word." He cleared his throat and thrust himself into the discourse.

"'Never stop seeking power and truth in the Force. Never stop studying the Dark Side and discovering its secrets. Go beyond what the Jedi teach and seek the answers for yourself. Never stop questing after what you seek, this vengeance upon the Mandalorians and the Jedi responsible for your siblings' deaths. Never for a single moment should you think of yourself of lower esteem than my Father; nor should you think you are less than me because I was his original son and Apprentice. You and I are equals in the Sith, Tinarandel. We are brothers, both in the Sith and in the Nothris family. I am proud to count you among our ranks.

Whatever you may believe, whatever stereotypes and insecurities you have about yourself, I want you to continually keep in mind, that nothing is impossible with the power of the Force.

Finally, never give up searching for Nagrig Deathblade. You'll find him, I promise. You just have to keep looking. Either you'll come to him…or he'll come to you. The puzzle is not yet complete, there is more to it that you've yet to find, pieces missing in the final picture. It is up to you to find them, with the help of my Father. Don't worry about, er, whatever his name is. He won't get in your way. The Darkness shall have its way with him soon enough. The Zabrak is completely unnecessary in this already calculated equation.'"

Tinarandel stared at Nothris hard, the same as Jwakir had done at him.

"'Don't let me down. Avenge me as you avenge your siblings. Avenge the casualties of the Mandalorian Wars. Avenge yourself and my Father.'"

Nothris burst into tears, weeping freely in contentment and satisfaction. _"My son!"_ he cried out forlornly. _"My Jwakir!"_

A single tear streamed down each of Tinarandel's cheeks. He let them fall devoid of inhibitions. They lingered for a second on his chin before dropping onto the thin sand. He wiped his stained face and stopped a second stream from dripping in tandem.

"So, he told you to tell me of him?" he mustered the energy to ask.

Nothris squeezed Tinarandel's shoulders to confirm. _"Yes, he told me. As I slept the night after the Droids at the medbay told me you'd have to stay overnight for a full recovery from Lord Baric's torture, I heard Jwakir's voice in my head. He sounded insistent, desperate, and feverishly passionate. I knew he wanted me to tell you of him, that it was urgent and not to be dismissed. I just…wanted to wait until the time was right, distanced from misunderstanding ears like Quanoe's."_

"That's incredible, Master," the awestruck Tinarandel whispered. Nothris nodded affirmingly in return.

Tinarandel choked through his cracked voice. "I'm so sorry. I should've told you earlier. I know he was your son. I know how much he meant to you."

Nothris cleaned his face on his robe and held Tinarandel's face in his hands. _"No, Tinarandel, it is no fault of yours. You did right in not telling me right away. I do not blame you. You know he was my son, special to me in a way I am unable to describe."_ He collected the Force in his body to soothe his shaking form, then asked, _"What did he say after that? Did he conclude his visitation to you?"_

Tinarandel glanced consciously at the _Javelin_ : EnNinetyfive and Quanoe left the mended hull and retreated inside. "At once, we heard the sirens. He told me to wake up and I did. Next thing I knew, we crashed on Korriban."

Nothris heaved in and out, drawing more on the Force to ease his emotions for the moment. _"That is enough for me. He woke you up for your safety. Thank you…for telling me all of this, Tinarandel."_ He ran a hand through Tinarandel's hair tenderly. _"Thank you for giving me this closure I have sought in vain for two endless agonizing years."_ He held Tinarandel close to his chest.

A minute later, Tinarandel politely asked, "Master, I need to ask you a serious question, and I want nothing less than an honest answer from you." He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, easing his anxieties, and adopted a stern look. "Do you know who killed Jwakir? Please tell me, Master. You must teach me the truth from your mouths, so I know the Mandalorian to hunt."

Nothris silently released Tinarandel from his arms, dropping his hands by his sides and diverting his gaze. Thirty silent seconds passed before he spoke up. _"Even since the end of the War, I still remember who it was, his name, his species, and his Clan."_ He copied Tinarandel's breathing methods, feeling the dreaded horrific name hanging on his mouths as a metaphysical thread. _"Vadír the Executioner, of Clan Vivvord of Mandalore: a ruthless, remorseless, heartless, bloodthirsty Wildcat who enjoyed killing indiscriminately, who killed for the fun of it. He was personally employed by Cassus Fett himself. He led the charge against the Galactic Republic in the Battle of Ithor, four standard years ago._

" _The Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders attacked devoid of warning. Ithor had no time to prepare when the Mandalorians swooped down upon it as part of their ambitious military campaign to conquer the Galaxy. Jwakir and I were there at the time and heard about the Taris Siege from the HoloNet._

 _Vadír and his Mandalorians snatched us as we left our home to escape the city. We fought back, of course, utilizing every single strategy of the lightsaber and abilities in the Force that we knew. But, using their superior technology and more refined battle tactics, they overpowered us with almost minimal effort. The soldiers under his command forced me to my knees on the ground. Vadír took my son as his hostage."_

Nothris gaped out across the high dunes behind the _Javelin_ , tears flooding his eyes and his glossy hands trembling in his lap. His voice projected from the translator, broken, horrified, regretful, and enveloped in the strangling arms of grief.

 _"I assured my son that everything would be okay, that we would be safe, and that the Mandalorians may spare our lives. We would live to behold the next Ithor sunrise!"_

He rattled his head and shuddered as the chills of guilt raced down his back colder than ice.

 _"Tinarandel…"_ He hardly massed the will to say his next words. _"…I was wrong."_

Nothris clenched his fists in his lap and refused any venture to wipe a new thread of tears from slipping down his wide face.

 _"I begged for Jwakir's life. I begged for Vadír not to kill him. Take my life, for Force's sake! Take my life but spare his! Let him live to see another day! Let him live to behold tomorrow's Ithor sunrise! Let him live to grow up to adulthood and become a powerfully fierce full-fledged Sith and avenge his Father! Take me, and let him live!_

 _But Vadír mocked my pleadings and dismissed them as naught. Oftentimes, I continue to hear the sounds of his sadistic Wildcat laughter in my ears. His soldiers laughed and beat me repeatedly with their guns, just as I was about to use the last of my breath to supplicate him._

 _Vadír drew that petrifying black-bladed saber from his belt…and slit Jwakir's throats in a single stroke!"_

" _No!"_ The horrified Tinarandel screamed aloud and pressed his paws to his mouth, his face drained of color and the quintessential likeness of abstract disbelieving terror.

Nothris lifted his tear-stained face to the sky and bellowed at the top of his lungs to the aggressive night winds, _**"HE WAS MY SON!"**_

Tinarandel courteously turned his gaze as Nothris dropped his face in his hands and wept quietly, his body heaving and shaking. He felt no judgment toward the Ithorian, no discomfort in the situation. He understood the loss; he knew the tragedy.

When Nothris returned to his senses, Tinarandel tentatively spoke up. "Master…" He knew the Ithorian did not currently incline to look at him. "Unlike you, I have no information to follow in uncovering the identities of those who killed my siblings. I do not know anything about whom of the Mandalorians laid the explosive traps around the secret munitions cache in their secret outpost on Dxun.

At the time, General Meetra Surik and I had just escaped the minefield. My siblings and I were separated during a skirmish earlier that day, and the Mandalorians sabotaged our communications equipment. I lost count of the hours I spent in Surik's camp and spied restlessly for a glimpse of my siblings and fellow Jedi. Night arrived and nothing changed." Tinarandel shut his eyes as a freezing shudder slipped down his spine.

"Then I felt it, the moment the moon rose over the Dxun horizon. It was as though something ripped the Force out of me, and severed the connection between myself and my siblings. I never saw the explosions, hardly heard them. I felt the extinguishing of Isidith's and Vadrieriand's lives. I forever lost a part of myself that night. Surik felt it, too, stronger than I. It was as much as we could do from dying or permanently losing our connection to the Force. We collapsed, literally and figuratively; even our hearts stopped beating for the longest moment of our lives. My siblings…died."

He choked on the final word and stared in humiliation at his lap, momentarily lost for words. After a solid minute, he lifted his head again to meet Nothris, who wiped the last of his tears from his eyes and face. "I found their bodies in the bushes, their clothes ripped by shrapnel and flesh bleeding from the explosions.

"As I said, I do not know in the slightest who devised those traps and rigged the munitions with them. I have no clues or names to go on. Whether those caches were aplenty in guns, supplies, rations, or whatever else, I'll never know. Nor will I ever know if my siblings died painlessly or if they suffered and bled to their final breaths. All I know is…that it's never been the same for me since Dxun. I left the Jedi Order and Dantooine a week after the funerals. I've never forgiven the Jedi for their lack of foresight or forward preparation. They'll suffer the consequences when the time comes right. For now, my focus is on the Mandalorians, and my search for the ones who stole my siblings' lives from them! They cannot escape the vengeance of the Sith!"

Tinarandel clenched his fists and shouted in a tone of untainted fury into the Korriban skies. "May the Dark Side curse them to be eternally tormented with the pain that I, the Jedi, and the army of the Republic experienced that night on Dxun! May it torture Vadír the Executioner to feel every single ounce of pain that he afflicted you with, Master, by killing your son on Ithor! May the Force forsake the Mandalorians!"

The thankful Nothris cleaned his face and placed his hands on Tinarandel's fists. The Squirrelan perceived his furious rage ebb out of him like a temporary toxin in his veins, and a spell of natural relaxation descended slowly on them. Nothris took Tinarandel's face in his hands and turned it towards him.

 _"Tinarandel…"_ Nothris chose his words consciously, his blue eyes pouring into Tinarandel's cocoa-brown. _"You are becoming more and more like a Sith every passing day. Never have I known an ambition as unfathomable as yours except in Jwakir. He was correct. I did make the right choice in taking you on as my Apprentice and Sith learner. Jwakir did well in visiting you. He knew that I visited the Sanctum of the Effigies and appealed to them. In hindsight, that saved you. It saved us. The Effigies knew that you planned to go on the adventure that you did, to acquire fathomless dark knowledge, and use it towards a diabolical end."_

Tinarandel tilted his head slightly to one side between Nothris' fingers. "Is that why the Effigies saved me?"

Nothris furrowed his brow in puzzlement. _"I believe so. They knew your cause was justified and admirable. You are doing something unimaginable, and they find it worthy of commendation."_ He smoothed out his brow and gave Tinarandel a determined look. _"We've come this far to Korriban, Tinarandel. Do not give up now. Deathblade wants us to win and acquire his Holocron, no matter the sacrifices we are compelled to make for it. Your siblings and my son shall be appeased. I dearly wish they could see us now."_

Tinarandel ended the depression of the moment with a hopeful smile, his brown eyes glowing pearly-white in the moonlight. "We do naught else except imagine. We can't let our fantasies distract us from the present moment. Deathblade won't wait for us to show up on his doorstep. Our focus in the Force is the path that will lead us to his tomb."

Nothris nodded affirmatively and let his hands fall from Tinarandel's face to his sides. _"Yes, Tinarandel. I agree. Remain focused on reality, and keep our ears open to the voice of the Force and our eyes to its visions."_ Then he spoke pensively, and to an extent, stony-faced. _"My Apprentice…I want you to promise me something. When Deathblade imparts to you the teachings of his Force Reaping, promise me that you will not use it recklessly. I mean to say, do not use it on the innocents of the Mandalorians. Swear to me, Tinarandel, that you'll reserve it exclusively for the ones who deserve it!"_

Tinarandel matched the truthful plea with brutal honesty of his own. For the third time that night, the yellow-orange glare of the Dark Side burned through his brown. "I promise you, Master, earnestly, to not use the newfound power recklessly. There is no reason for me to harm the innocents of Mandalore. I reserve the Force Reaping exclusively for the ones who deserve its indescribable torture! They'll never destroy another innocent life ever again! I swear to you, Master, that the deaths of Isidith, Vadrieriand, and Jwakir will not be in vain!"

 _"That's the spirit!"_ Nothris climbed exuberantly to his feet and pulled Tinarandel to his. _"That is the way of the Sith! Now, are you prepared for bed?"_

Tinarandel fought and won against the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he granted himself a deserved laugh. "Yes, Master. I am fully prepared for bed. I perceive you are caring for me much as a father cares for his son." A large loud yawn cut off his last statement, and he compulsively stretched his arms in the air. "Sorry about that." he apologized sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.

Nothris laughed heartily and took Tinarandel in his arm. _"You are fine, my boy. It's been a longer day than expected. Time to go to bed."_

Tinarandel led the way down the sandy hill. As they reached the _Javelin_ 's loading ramp, Nothris made a solemn prayer in his heart.

 _Isidith…Vadrieriand…Jwakir, my son…Wherever you are, lend us your strength!_

* * *

The next morning, everyone awoke in optimistic spirits. The trio ate a hearty breakfast in the _Pegasus Javelin_. Quanoe and EnNinetyfive restocked the spilled contents of the cargo hold caused by the crash, while Nothris and Tinarandel worked outside on the thrusters.

Master and Apprentice drew heavily on the Force and collected the obstructive detritus of sand, dust, and dirt that clogged the machinery into a giant swirling orange-brown cyclone. Nothris carried the towering twister several yards safely far from the _Javelin_ and dropped it dramatically on the dunes. Tinarandel vacuumed any stragglers left behind until the ship's four thrusters sat newly cleaned. Then he took his toolbox and a pack of resin to patch up the cracks in the starship's front right windshield.

When they returned inside, Quanoe donned a pair of bantha-hide gloves from his locker and approached his Force-sensitive companions. "I've just thought of something important. No doubt the Valley of the Dark Lords is a hostile place that doesn't take kindly to visitors. It's even less of a riddle for Deathblade to acknowledge us as intruders to his eternal sleep, and spare no effort at repelling said intruders from his resting place. I know how to defend myself, for sure. The real question is, what do I defend myself _with_?"

Tinarandel thought over the question for a few seconds. He opened a weapons crate and tossed Quanoe the contents inside. "Here. Take this. It's leftover from the Republic troopers who formerly owned the ship. We never saw the need to get rid of it. I honestly hoped it'd come in handy someday."

"My word!" Quanoe beheld the firearm that Tinarandel had thrown at him, turning it over and over in his hands in wonderment. "This is a 9118 heavy carbine blaster rifle, Rodian-made! Do you have any idea how expensive these are? They're unbelievably rare! Do not worry, you two! I am more than experienced in blaster rifle application! I won't hesitate and make every single shout count!" He extended the leather strap and swung the rifle over his back military-style.

"There are a few more things here," Tinarandel flung Quanoe a handheld combat knife in its sheath. He caught it deftly and clipped it to his belt. "Come on over and take what you like."

Quanoe attached scope and flashlight atop the rifle and hung a backup C-10 "Dragoneye" heavy blaster pistol in its holster on his other hip. He placed his spectacles case neatly inside his travel pack.

"You know, now that I think about it," Tinarandel shut the locker and scratched his chin contemplatively. "The former owners of the _Javelin_ probably weren't Republic-affiliated for a time, or not at all. They might've worked in the smuggling business, I reckon. How else would they acquire these weapons and firearms?"

EnNinetyfive lowered the loading ramp and turned to the trio. **"Everything is prepared for your expedition. I wish you the best of luck and success. I will remain here and do my duty as a Steward Droid. The work is slow and taxing, but like you, I am not giving up! I am giving it my all! It kind of makes me feel like a Sith, too! Oh, and I have already uploaded the coordinates of the Korriban Sith Academy to your wrist links' built-in GPSes."**

Tinarandel raised his eyebrows at his Nothris, inspired. "Color me impressed, Master. He's done it again. Stay safe, SeeToo," he counseled the factotum Droid and retrieved his and Nothris' wrist links from the locker. He synchronized their chronometers to the _Javelin_ 's clock. "Take our comlinks from the captain's locker and let us know if anything happens."

 _"We'll be back before you know it, EnNinetyfive,"_ Nothris gave him a promising nod, likewise strapping his link around his left wrist. He packed food and drinks into their travel bags and gestured for them to walk behind him. _"Do your work and keep us updated. Come on, you two!"_


End file.
